


King Me

by hardlyproductive



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Slash, oc fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyproductive/pseuds/hardlyproductive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neurotic. Self-effacing. Stubborn. In Heaven's eyes, Sam Winchester is considered the greatest Abomination; to Kyle, he is everlasting hope. If the cost of finding beauty in big brown eyes and warm hands meant his memories, and his wings, then so be it. He'd gladly serve the Boy King forever. (Sam/OC, Slash, All Seasons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Song Remains The Same](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/206711) by R.W. Winters. 



> Author's Note: I'm not exactly new to the fanfiction writing scene, but it has been a while. A few years, in fact. The plan is to publish revisions of my old stories but start things off with a headcanon I've wanted to do for months.
> 
> First, let me be upfront. "King Me" is a slash story, depicting a turbulent romance between Sam and my male OC, Kyle. This means Sam is bisexual from the get-go; more so bi-curious, which leads me to my second heads-up. If you're uncomfortable with same sex couples doing couple things (i.e., hand holding, cuddling, and yes, even having sex), then I recommend reading works from another writer who dabbles in this sort of thing. Song Remains the Same by R.W. Winters (Castiel/Alex, Sisfic, AU) is a great choice, which serves as a source of inspiration for "King Me". Constructive criticism is welcomed, and I even encourage it, but I find no point in someone continuing to read a story they dislike or even hate.
> 
> I intend to closely follow Supernatural lore and its canon events, but it's fair to expect a few things added and improvised. The first chapter has only a few canon events since I had to establish Kyle's plot in the story. Details of the main plot will cover all seasons, so anticipate a lot monthly updates.
> 
> Lastly, aside from strengthening my writing skills, my goal for "King Me" is to make the romance between Sam and Kyle believable (as "believable" as things can be, in their world.) They start off as close acquaintances and, with a slow build-up, grow into something more. Expect additional OC's and AU sub-plots as well. Rights of SUPERNATURAL are reserved to its respective writers, producers, and all other contributors who make the series possible.
> 
> Warning: Sadly, I'm no Shakespeare. Read at your own risk, and enjoy.

PROLOGUE / THE FLAWED DESIGN

" _And why should all mankind, for one man's fault, be condemned, if guiltless?"_

John Milton, Paradise Lost

* * *

Near an intersection of Long Beach, California lay three crumpled bodies. A pearl-white SUV was wrapped around the traffic pole, and glass shards littered the blood streaked concrete. Kyle Chase heaved every breath for his life, which was slipping through his fingers quicker than the finest sand. Death had come for him, and he shirked away as they approached. Agony shot up from his mangled leg to his lips, and he cried out; not out of pain, but a battle cry for his life.

" _Please."_ As the Reaper knelt beside him, his choppy breaths quickened. "I d-don't-I don't want t-to die."

She smiled at him remorsefully. "I'm sorry, Kyle." Her hand lingered mere inches from the boy's fatal chest wound. His shirt was sopping red, pouring from the center on down, spilling away his life. "Your time has come. Let me put you out of this misery."

"No," rasped the boy. The rest of his words were incoherent with sobs. Fear and regret surged from him; the same fear and regret felt by all others, especially those of his age. So young, with so much left to do; with so much they _wanted_ to do, that is. They did not understand the Natural Order. They, humans especially, could not accept their own mortality and how nondiscriminatory it actually was. A baby could pass away within the first few minutes of life, while a chronic smoker could survive to the ripening age of seventy. At seventeen, Kyle was both luckier and more unfortunate than most. He had deserved a more pleasant death, like passing away in his sleep, than bleeding out on cold pavement.

The Reaper sympathized with him but gestured to where the others lay. "You and your friends will be in a better place." She spoke in almost a whisper. One of her colleagues had already left, the soul of Ben Cooper in tow. The other was wrapping up, placating the soul of Elena Flores with a hand atop her head. The girl glanced at Kyle with a smile that seemed to say, _See you on the other side_ , then vanished. "At this moment, I want nothing more than for you to join them, Kyle. Let me help you. Let me guide you to peace."

Kyle's gray eyes stood out from his bloodied face, draining of warmth and color. With every labored beat his heart took, the harder he sucked in air. His body was withering, but his soul grew more frantic, less complacent and determined. The Reaper noticed this and frowned. Then she stiffened, sensing a great incoming presence. The brightest light shone down on them, and distraught Enochian pleas seared through their ears.

"Don't, Kyle!" She tried to warn, but it was too late. The boy had heard it too, and his lips parted to utter the single most dangerous word.

_"Yes."_

* * *

"You left me no choice, brother," Michael repeated to himself, looming over the angel's new vessel. The Reaper who came to shepherd Kyle Chase's soul was long gone, and those who remained were the Commander himself, deliberating with a Seraph on what to do with his unconscious sibling.

"Do you think it wise to leave him his wings?" asked Amenadiel. His face, usually expressionless, bordered on appearing pinched or somber. Said look then turned to fear, as his superior turned and glowered at him.

"For your sake, I will pretend you did not just ask that." Michael then waited, only continuing when Amenadiel pursed his lips and bowed his head apologetically. "He will keep his wings, just as he will return to Heaven." Michael approached Kyle's body, unsheathing his blade, and squatted next to him. The very tip slit open his neck, allowing the bright celestial vitality to seep through. "This is only temporary, so he does not stand in my way. Here."

He finished filling the vial and tossed it to Amenadiel, who caught it easily. The Seraph's eyes widened, and he regarded Michael with brief uncertainty. "You are entrusting me with his grace?"

"I do not _trust_ you, Amenadiel," spat Michael. "I cannot afford to trust anyone." The hardness in his voice, more than usual, masked the hurt. _First Lucifer, then Gabriel, now their youngest brother. Who next?_ White fire flashed in his eyes just before Michael composed himself, regarding Amenadiel solemnly. "What I'm doing, is tasking you with him and his grace. You will protect both, and keep them separate, until the time is right."

"But if the Apocalypse happens as planned," said the Seraph, "he will find Dean and Sam Winchester. He will try to change their fate."

Michael's hand closed over Kyle's, now his brother's, throat wound. It glowed and warmed slightly, until the fingers pulled back, now healed completely. He studied the angel's resting face, considering Amenadiel's words, and gave a hollowed chuckle. "Yes, he will try. Because he is _meant_ to try. It is his destiny to stand in my way, just as it is Lucifer's." He couldn't understand why Father insisted it carry out this way, but it wasn't his place to question. "There is nothing I can do about the Apocalypse, or about Lucifer. But I can still do something about this."

Slowly, the Commander stood. Glass scraped under his feet and reflected the overhead street lights, casting off multi-colored shimmers. He gazed up one street, looked down the other, hearing the sirens come from both ways. "This world, and all that inhabits it, is fragile. Making my brother human means making him just as fragile. I may not be able to stop Lucifer, but I can stop our baby brother, even manipulate him, if that is what it takes. Guard his life with your own, Amenadiel. Or I will take yours, should you fail."

Amenadiel knew better to remain silent. A flutter of wings cracked across the evening sky, and he gazed up at Michael's departure. The Archangel's words final words echoed in the back of his mind, and would for years to come.

 


	2. Hitsuzen

CHAPTER ONE / HITSUZEN

_"There is no such thing as coincidence, only hitsuzen. A state in which all other outcomes are impossible."_

xxxHolic

* * *

**_Five Years Later_ **

**_Denver, Colorado_ **

"Hello, earth to Sammy! Anybody in there?"

Sam jolted from a nudge to the shoulder and righted himself against the Impala quickly. He looked over at Dean, confused. "What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? You were spacing out, man. _Again_." Dean put up the gas pump and stared back, studying his brother closely.

"Oh, yeah. Right." A groan left Sam as he tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Sorry, just thinking about what Becky said."

Dean nodded once with a slight "hmm", not entirely convinced. He opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, Sam rounding the car to join him on the other side. One creaky door followed the other, and soon the engine roared to life as they rolled over gravel back onto smooth road. Even with the radio on, an expectant silence hung in the air. Sam sighed and decided to get this out the way; after all, it was still a long drive to Long Beach.

"I just want to make sure Kyle's okay," he explained, keeping his voice light and casual. Sam tried to scrutinize what his brother was thinking, but Dean's face was too blanked out to tell anything. He stared forward at the road, one hand on the steering wheel, posture relaxed. "I mean, don't you think it's a little weird this stuff is happening to everyone I knew at Stanford, as soon as _you_ decide to show up?"

That got Dean's attention, who gave him a _so you're going there?_ look and scoffed. "Two things," he said, holding up a finger on the steering wheel. "One, it's not _everybody_ you knew at Stanford. It's just one, possibly two people. Second, there's this little-kinda-important-thing to consider called a coincidence."

Now it was Sam's turn to scoff. "A coincidence, Dean? Really?" He shook his head and looked out the window dismissively.

But Dean didn't back down and reaffirmed, "Yeah, man. A coincidence. You trying to tell me there's something linked to this Kyle guy, showing up at your and Jess's apartment, after you left? Or what, you think he's got something to do with Yellow Eyes? Huh?"

"I don't know, Dean!" Sam nearly shouted, but it hardly phased the other. Their eyes met, and Dean decided against saying much else that would push his brother further. "I don't _know_. So since we don't know, would it kill you to help me find out?"

"Aw, come on, man." Despite his better judgment, Dean couldn't help but look away and let his mouth fly. "We know what this is really about. As long as you can keep making up patterns for us to chase, you get to cling onto that life you had with Jess. But lemme tell you this, it's one thing to get revenge. You can kill, you can _feel_ that. It's another thing to be chasing ghosts, Sam. You're gonna have to let go sooner or later, so which is it gonna be?"

For a while, Sam was quiet. Tension rolled off him, which only put Dean on the defensive for whatever his brother might say. Yet as the minutes passed, and not a word was said, Dean huffed. "Well?"

"Whatever." One word, and Sam left it at that. He reached over and turned up the radio, sinking further into the passenger seat away from Dean.

The other clicked his tongue and muttered. "Yeah, well. Whatever, too." Def Leppard blared through the speakers as Dean got comfortable, preparing himself for the long awkward drive.

* * *

_"So, this is what you do? You and your brother, you hunt down these kinds of...things?"_

_A smile lit up Sam's face as he answered, conflicted. "Yeah, pretty much." He wasn't sure if he should feel proud or begrudge that Becky and their other friends could live normal lives. But one look at her grateful face, and Sam couldn't help but think; it felt damn good to make something right, after so much had gone wrong._

_"I mean, I saw it with my own eyes, and…" Becky trailed off with a sigh, knitting together her eyebrows curiously. "Does anybody at school know, about any of this?"_

_Sam shook his head. "Nah, no one can really know. And by now, pretty sure it's obvious why."_

_"Oh yeah, sure." Becky pushed on, albeit carefully. "Did Jessica know? Or maybe..." But then she stopped herself, stuttering. "I-I mean, yeah, uh...Jess, did she?"_

_Sam's smile faltered. "No, she didn't." He searched Becky's face, not speaking until they held eyes again. "Something you wanna tell me?"_

_"No, it's...it's nothing." She shook her head and smiled back, guarded._

_"Becky." Sam stepped closer and looked down at her. He spoke gently, but his gaze was focused. "Tell me. What is it?"_

_She sighed and broke their stare. "I'm sorry, I should've said something sooner. But I didn't know if it had anything to do with..."_

_"With what?"_

_Becky told him to wait, then went back into the house. She came out with a newspaper clipping and handed it to Sam. "That night, when Jess...well, after it happened, the police came. They questioned everyone, and Kyle was taken in as a suspect."_

_"Kyle Chase?" He specified, and Becky nodded, making his eyes widen in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? What for?"_

_"Arson. And I know, I found it hard to believe too, but…"_

_"No, Becky. Listen to me." Sam tucked the clipping in his pocket and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Don't believe what anyone says, okay? I know for a fact that Kyle didn't do this."_

_"How do you…?" She studied him for a moment, then trailed off when realizing. "It's something to do with-this stuff?"_

_"Yeah, and I'm getting to the bottom of all of it. Or trying to, at least." Sam swallowed thickly, forcing down the sudden wave of emotion that had spiked through him. Thinking about Jess, what happened to Zach, then Becky, now Kyle getting caught up in the middle of all this-it was too much to process at once. He and Dean had to find their dad. They had to track down and kill Yellow Eyes. To get justice for Jess, to make everything right. He had to fix this. "Becky, uh, do you mind if I keep this?"_

_"No, go ahead. I wrote his parent's address on the back."_

_"Thanks."_

_She gently pushed Sam's hands off her, leaning in and hugging him instead. "Be careful, Sam. Tell Kyle to call me, if and whenever he can."_

Sam fiddled with the newspaper clipping until the ink faded and wore off on his fingers. He'd long since memorized its contents, investigating further into the evidence stacked against Kyle, but something bothered him. Something in particular, sharp and nudging, that left a sour taste in his mouth long after the reports and testimonies had been accounted for.

STANFORD STUDENT SUSPECT FOR MURDER, CHARGES PENDING. It was this damn headline. While it championed for readers, Kyle's family was suffering. And Kyle? Probably scared out of his mind, not knowing what really happened that night, nor what was going to happen to him as a result. Inaccurate information aside, the media was tearing any credibility he had apart. But when didn't they? _Man brutalizes wife, marriage ends in tragedy. Teen butchers parents, drugs the culprit. Teacher goes insane, slaughters former student._ What really happened went unchecked, and Dean and Sam risked their lives to keep it that way. The monsters themselves hardly cared, few of them did, but it wasn't about them. It was about the friends and loved ones they left behind, willingly or unwillingly. It was about the tragedies ( _tragedy_ , a word used far too loosely by bloggers) that got scattered, hopes dashed and memories stained, for fatherless children and grieving lovers to pick up and try to put the pieces back together again.

The more Sam scrutinized the evidence, the more motivated he became; whether or not this was a "thing", he'd work his damndest to make sure Kyle's life went back to normal. He readjusted himself in the chair, all chest and shoulders, and hunched over the table. His eyes combed back through a report creased by dog-ears and colored by post-it's, until his ears picked up the sound of running water shutting off. The bathroom door opened shortly after, Dean coming out in just a towel.

"Got anything?" He asked, keeping things short. Unless it was about Kyle's case, their dad, or a lead on Yellow Eyes, neither of them said much to each other. But as Dean approached the duffel he'd tossed on his bed, he couldn't help but hope; maybe Sam would break the ice and they could talk things out, the whole _I said this wrong, but what I really meant_ loop.

"Not really." Sam seemed to hardly acknowledge him as he continued scanning the documents. There was tension in his face, though it wasn't the same as what locked Dean's shoulders into place. The older Winchester grunted to himself to just forget the whole thing, focus on what Sam was focusing on, so they could move on and actually focus on what they _should_ be focusing on. With that, he pulled up a pair of worn denims, yanked on a t-shirt, and dropped himself in the chair across from Sam, who finally decided to give him his fuller attention.

"Everything here is completely circumstantial. I mean, how do you even begin to pin a demon attack on a college student?"

Dean shrugged. "The same way you pin anything we fight on someone else." He reached and grabbed a bottle of beer he'd opened earlier, slapping shut the laptop in the process. "Listen, man. They've basically got nothing on Kyle, so there's nothing they can do with him. End of story."

Sam then caught something, and his frown deepened. "Except not." There was an edge to his tone as handed his brother the police report, who took a swig and then the paper reluctantly. "Look at the date and time this was filed."

Dean, who was about to chug down the rest of his beer, read it carefully. His face drained of color, and the glint in his eyes soon matched his brother's.

"November second," Sam said. "Just a few hours after Jess was killed. Turn to the third page."

Dean did so, reading it, then read it again; hoping there was a mistake, while also regretting that he hoped there _wasn't_ one. Because if it followed through, it meant they had something. They _finally_ had a lead.

"We gotta talk to the parents," he said, shirking out of his chair. "Let's go."

* * *

Dean and Sam flew down the road, not much exchanged between them. Dean's mind was elsewhere. _O_ _n Sam a few weeks ago, and that defeated look in his eyes, realizing the apple-pie perfection he'd sacrificed everything he knew for was gone; how that very look mirrored John's the night their mother burned to death._ Eventually, Dean did refocus, but surprisingly his eyes didn't flit to restaurants or the busty babes of Long Beach. His eyes were on the road, and on the piece of paper Sam had given him for directions to the Chase's residence.

Sam's eyes were glued to the report, pulling apart that section on the third page in any possible way he could. The timeline provided, as confirmed by Kyle, placed him at the scene just ten minutes after Sam had left. _Ten minutes._ Attached to the report was Kyle's statement as to what happened: his sister Olivia had come for a visit, since he had taken the CPA exam earlier that day. He attested to feeling "a dark presence" and felt something was wrong, which only made Sam exhale slowly. The police had been suspicious from the start. Kyle's statement then went on to describe "odd things" that kept happening, from the fluctuating weather patterns to the food he and Olivia ordered for takeout "appearing raw". Eventually, Kyle persuaded them to head back to the apartment.

Olivia left to take a shower and Kyle went out onto the balcony, texting Jess and telling her to congratulate Sam on his high LSAT score for him. Reading that again, a lump welled in his throat. Sam hadn't known Kyle as well as Becky. His friendship with him was more similar to the one with Brady, but he was hella bright and simply a good person. As a hunter, Sam had developed a sense for "right" and "evil" over time, and the kind of aura Kyle had was hard to come by. His sister, Olivia, seemed pretty nice too from what Sam had seen. A few months ago, she had sent a video wishing him good luck on the CPA exam, and Kyle showed it to Sam. It was during one of their breaks researching for an ethics paper, and Sam couldn't forget the way that dimpled, embarrassed grin stretched wide across his face. _"She's a brat. But I don't know what I'd do without her."_

It didn't ache any less as Sam memorized the remaining details of Kyle's statement. Not only about his faux-involvement in Jess's murder, but him as a suspected accessory to Olivia's disappearance. Kyle claimed she had been taken, but he didn't know nor have any indication by whom other than one thing: sulfur. Kyle had sworn he smelled a lot of it, just as the lights were cut off and a pair of "yellow eyes" stood out in the dark. He could hear Olivia's muffled screams, but they were drowned out by "whispers" ordering him to go see Sam if Kyle ever wanted to reunite with her again. The report then took over to mention that, just minutes after, Kyle came running onto the crime scene. He had been shouting for Sam's name, that "it took her", and he was "running out of time before it hurt her." The police, of course, hadn't believed Kyle and took him in for questioning and placed him under psychiatric evaluation. The hospital name had yet to be disclosed.

"Dean, do you…?" Sam started but then trailed off. He didn't realize how far he'd slouched in his chair and pushed himself upwards.

Dean's eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the road. "What, think that Yellow Eyes took her? Damn right, I do. And we're gonna find out all we can about what happened. What Kyle knows, we need to know."

"Right." Sam cleared his throat and closed the report. He needed to give his eyes a rest. His mind was a different story.

_"Hey, man, I got someone for you to meet." Brady swatted at Sam's chest, which made him look up with a wry smile._

_"Alright, but make it quick. Horvitz is about to start, and I don't feel like getting on his bad side the first day."_

_Brady rolled his eyes, partially distracted with waving the mystery person over. "The hell with Horvitz. I had him for prereq and I'll tell you right now, he's full of himself and he sucks. Hey, Kyle! Over here!"_

_A guy about their age came up, about to ease into the chair beside Brady that was soon taken. It flustered him up a bit, but he quickly brushed it off by agreeing with Brady on some half-douche comment he tossed out. This time, Sam was the one who wanted to roll his eyes. Then he noticed the way Kyle pulled up a chair closer to him, a mere stranger, rather than towards Brady. He didn't blame him; Brady was easily likeable, but he was still an ass._

_"Figured I'd introduce you two," said the ass. "Sam, this is Kyle Chase. Kyle, don't say I never did anything nice for you."_

_"Thanks, Brady, but I sort of knew who Sam Winchester was already." Kyle's smile was as gentle as his face, which was pale, almost pasty. Dark circles underscored his gray eyes, and they stood out through dark, unkempt tufts of hair._

_Sam, now curious, turned in his chair to regard him fully._ _"Did you?"_

_He laughed and readjusted the collar of his button-up. "Yeah. There's this rumor going around that you're from Minnesota, since you're built like a Viking."_

_That made Sam chuckle a little. "Not exactly, uh. Kansas. Well, Lawrence actually."_

_"Oh, really? I have an aunt who-"_

_"Hey Kyle," Brady cut in and none-too-gently nudged his shoulder, "I think someone's looking for you. Over there."_

_He jutted his head towards the opposite of the room. Kyle's face paled more, if it were even possible, and snapped his head towards Brady's point of view. Sam joined them but furrowed his eyebrows._

_"I don't see anyone. Kyle?"_

_"Oh. Oh, no, it was nothing." The smile returned, though it was more forced and genteel. He then stood and tossed his messenger bag on his shoulder, leaving in a hurry. "I'll see you guys later, okay? Nice to meet you officially, Sam."_

_Sam was about to call out to him, but Brady beat him to it. "Kyle? Hey, Kyle!"_

_"Sit down, Mister Morgan," Horvitz said, his line of focus shifting most of the class's attention onto Brady and Sam. "Unless you find the class unnecessary and are ready to submit your end of the term report, I suggest you put your family's unwavering investment in your education to good use."_

_A "tch" lashed from Brady's lips, albeit repressively, as he sat back in his chair. Sam leaned back and looked around him in search of Kyle, but no luck. He was gone._

_"Accountant majors, I tell you," whispered Brady as he pushed open his computer. "Awkward bastards."_

* * *

"We appreciate you coming, Sam. It would've meant a lot to Kyle." Mrs. Chase's voice was gentle, even softer than Kyle's usual tone. It made it too easy for Sam to smile, although it was sympathetically.

"No problem, Mrs. Chase. We came here as soon as I heard the news from Becky."

Mrs. Chase tried forcing a smile as well, but failed. "Please, dear. Call me Diane." And despite how weighed it was with sadness, her energy was just as warm as Kyle's. It seemed to spread through the entire house; which Dean noticed and, true to Dean-style, couldn't help but whistle and comment on.

"You and the hubs got yourself a nice thing going here." That earned a sharp elbow to the ribs from Sam, which made Dean frown a _'what?'_ , as Sam mouthed a _'what is wrong with you'_ back. Diane observed the interaction and chuckled, but it sounded weak, almost frail from grief.

"I'm sure Alan would've appreciated hearing that. Hundreds of hours went into this house, and even more to make the mortgage, the car payments…" She set down her still-warm tea, which joined the two cups she'd poured for the Winchester's earlier. "And of course, Kyle and Libby's education. She had just started at UCLA when..."

Covering her mouth, Diane closed her eyes and held back a sob that wanted to rake through her. Dean and Sam shared a brief look, cuing the more compassionate of the two to lean forward and regard her patiently. "You mean Olivia?"

Diane nodded and slowly pulled back her mouth, sniffled, and began fumbling with the tissue she'd tucked inside her wristwatch. "We call her Libby. She and Kyle never fought...never _fight_. Alan and I used to joke that we worried what they'd do to each other if we ever left them alone, that maybe it was all an act. But they've always been close. It's why I didn't believe it for a second when...t-the police…"

Quietly, Dean reached out and grabbed a picture from the glass coffee table. It was a family picture of all four: Kyle, Libby, and their parents. They appeared younger, Kyle around seventeen or eighteen, and Libby a couple years less. "If it's alright, Diane, would you mind telling us what happened that night? Anything Kyle might have said?"

Diane ducked and shook her head, as if trying to persuade herself out of something. "He called us from the county jail, told us what happened, that...that someone took her." What resembled distress and confusion then colored her face. "Not even someone, but a _thing_."

"Like a monster?" Dean went there, right out the gate. Sam wanted to rebuke him with another look, but the pensive expression on Diane's face caught his eye.

"I'm sorry if this comes off the wrong way…" As she spoke, the red rims around her eyes grew more pronounced. "You're a good boy, Sam. And I know you came here with your brother because you mean well. But my son has been through enough already." Sam opened his mouth, and she quickly held up her hand. "Please. Kyle is sick. Libby is missing. I just...I need some time alone."

"With all due respect, Diane," said Dean, stepping in, "my brother and I can help." The amount of sincerity in his voice surprised Sam, who listened curiously, observing the way Dean's eyes rested on Diane's hesitant face. "We lost our mom, don't know where our dad is. We know how rough it gets. And we know how things can happen. Weird things." He didn't break his gaze with hers even once. "Things you can't say aloud, because people will think you're crazy. But we believe Kyle. And we'll believe you, too."

It was exactly what Diane needed to hear. She considered the boys in front of her. They were young, around Kyle's age; but the intensity in their eyes made them seem wise beyond their years. She sighed slowly and nodded. "You can ask anything, but...there's something I have to show you first."

The Winchester's stood and followed her. Her voice echoed throughout the house, accompanying the sounds of clanking heels and the hunters' dull footsteps. "After Kyle told me where he was being held, I called our lawyer. He got out on bail and I paid the bond, then we went home." They reached the top of the spiral staircase and went down a couple of hallways. "Kyle didn't come out of his room for two days. At first, he assured me he was fine. Then he stopped answering me. I tried to come in, but he locked the door."

"So you called a locksmith," Sam said.

Diane approached the door, presumably to Kyle's room, and nodded. "I had no choice. The police dropped by a court summons. All the neighbors saw. It started making the papers and news…" She exhaled shakily, placing her hand on the doorknob. "I went inside and saw this."

She pushed open the door, where it thumped against the wall. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was impressively designed but had been ransacked. Where once Kyle's bed laid was now just the bed frame, and the mattress had been shoved to block off the bay window area. The closet doors were open, clothes yanked and tossed over the chaise, littering the floor. Nearly every inch of the walls had been covered by torn-out book and journal pages, marked by Kyle's frantic, chaotic scribble. A makeshift bulletin board had also been set up with pinned print-out photos.

"Christ…" said Sam, horrified. Dean went over to Kyle's desk, which had been stacked with papers, the computer monitor still on.

"It _was_ worse." Diane sniffled and wrapped her arms around herself. "I tried straightening things up a little, but then I actually read some of it." She stood in the doorway, allowing the Winchester's to freely sweep the room. "Part of me wanted to show the police."

As Dean tried logging onto Kyle's desktop, Sam peered up from a picture of Libby on his desk. "Why didn't you?"

Diane tried wrapping herself tighter in her sweater. "I knew Kyle was innocent. I don't know how I did. Call it mother's instinct or anything you want. I just knew. But they didn't. I knew they wouldn't care."

"It's not that they don't care, they…" Sam swallowed a lump in his throat and managed another smile. "They just don't know the truth. "

Diane saw through the veil-thin attempt to comfort her. "But you do?"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't believe us," said Dean. He pushed himself out the chair and approached Sam's side, looking at her. "We need the hospital address where Kyle's held."

Diane frowned. "You said you believed me, that you believe Kyle."

"We do," Sam reassured, giving another troubled glimpse around the room. "More now than we did before."

"Then what's the problem?" She demanded. "I've told you everything I know. Now you need to tell me what's going on. What do you and Kyle know that I don't?"

"After we get him out of this whole thing, we'll tell you," Dean promised. "But it's important we talk to him."

"So you don't think he's crazy?" Diane turned her head from one to the other. A stint of hope brightened her face. "Just tell me what you need. I'll have Abbey give it to you."

* * *

Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Baby's engine rumbled softly and pushed on. Eventually they were a few miles outside La Casa Psychiatric Health Facility, when Dean decided to finally speak that had been on his mind. "Hey, anything seem kinda off to you back there?"

Sam, who had been busy sifting through Kyle's notes, looked up curiously. "What, Mrs. Chase? Not really. I mean, she was pretty helpful."

"Exactly," said Dean. " _Too_ helpful. Like she was expecting us or something."

Sam sighed, setting the papers down, and rubbed his eyes. "Dean, you saw how upset and confused she was. That isn't somebody with an ulterior motive. It's a mother in distress."

"I'm just saying, man. She took it a little too well." Dean shrugged, eyes on the road. "I think she's hiding something. Call it a gut feeling."

"Oh, your gut. _Right_." Sam nodded dismissively, now examining a copy of Kyle's psychiatric report. One of the footnotes peaked his interest, and he turned to the designated attachment. "Hey, check this out. It says here that Kyle was in a car accident five years ago."

"Okay, so what?"

"Well, he was riding with two other people. Both of them died on-scene, before the paramedics could even get there."

Dean shrugged again. "Then Kyle's lucky. What's that got to do with the case?"

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, reading on. "It says, when taken to the hospital, Kyle insisted he was fine. The doctor checked him anyway and, despite there being evidence of severe head trauma, lung damage, _and_ ruptured organs, Kyle didn't have a scratch on him. On the outside, anyway. The only indication his body had taken any damage was internal, scars over tissue. Like his body had been on healing steroids or something."

"Or maybe a mother in distress pulled some magic," Dean offered. "Or worse."

The muscles in Sam's jaw rolled with tension. "What?"

"It's possible, and I'm just tossing it out there..."

"No, just no. Absolutely not."

"You don't even know what I was about to say!"

"I do, and it's impossible. Kyle's not a _demon_ , Dean."

Dean looked over at him, no trace of humor. "How do you know?"

Sam blanched at him. "Trust me, _I_ would know! Kyle's holed up in the loony-bin, and you think he set this all up?"

"It would explain the sister's disappearance, what happened to Jess-"

"Kyle _did not_ kill Jess." Sam clenched his jaw even tighter. "Yellow Eyes did."

"Maybe he's working for Yellow Eyes." Yet the second Dean tossed out such an idea, the look on his brother's face made him amend it. "Come on, man. His _meatsuit_. Not him."

"No…" Sam shook his head and looked out the window, but Dean persisted.

"Then explain all that crap in his room. Crap people _like us_ mull over everyday, Sam. Not trust-fund college boys."

Sam tried tuning his brother out. It could make sense, but that didn't mean it was the truth. He wasn't sure how Kyle got his hands on _those types_ of demonology and occult books. He didn't know why Kyle contacted outside parties to track him down, setting up bulletins and pictures, while researching for weapons that could hunt evil spirits. Perhaps Kyle was telling the truth in his story, that "something" told him to find Sam. But why take Libby to up the stakes? Why make Kyle the only live link they had to Yellow Eyes? It would've made better sense if they had been closer to Sam, but they weren't. They were people the Winchesters had to save; yet Sam couldn't shake the feeling that it was something more than that.

* * *

Eleven days. That was how long he had been here. With his numb mind and numb body accounted for, Kyle was surprised he had managed to keep track of time.

 _Passing time,_ he thought. _With one hour less to save her._ He should've kept his mouth shut. About demons or spirits, or whatever the hell they were called. About what he'd been told to do, who to find, too scared and desperate to think about anything but getting back Libby. He should've realized he'd be alone in this, stuck with a mother who loved them but couldn't understand. Not that he blamed her. Until a few weeks ago, he hadn't believed in any of this stuff either.

His mother had always called him a "miracle", yet he couldn't even remember the accident. Apparently, he almost died, _had_ died. The play on words varied according to whom his mother told the story. They weren't a religious family, but they believed in the presence of a spiritual force; they simply didn't stick a denomination to it. Every now and then, his mother would praise the guardian who'd been watching over Kyle that night.

Was that what he felt? Persistent eyes, an unyielding force, orbiting him day and night? Had that been the "voice" telling him to find Sam Winchester? And, since he was already in a crazy house, was "it" responsible for making those books appear? Kyle considered everyone's opinions extensively: the cops and their "blackouts" theory, the doctors and their proposal that such an "anomalous outcome" (to what should have been a fatal accident) was bound to have some psychiatric side-effects. No one believed Kyle, what he had been told, or what he had seen. Not even Kyle wanted to believe Kyle.

He didn't want to have to _know_ anything. He just wanted his sister back, and was willing to grasp at straws-that put his sanity under question-to do it.

The metallic shrill of wheels rolling down the hallway alerted Kyle's attention. He pushed away from the small window he'd been staring out of, feet pattering against the floor, and hustled over to the cot. Just as he settled under the sheets, the door opened. He slowed his breathing and kept his eyes shut, mimicking sleep. The last thing he needed was another sedative because the nurse didn't like him sitting around.

But Dorothy, as her name was, was in a particularly jovial mood. She hummed an incomprehensible tune, it filling the air along with the familiar clink of bottles. From the slight nudge felt against his bed, Kyle judged the med cart had been parked right in front of him. Dorothy's humming grew louder, too happy and too manic. Kyle listened for her rustling until the curiosity got to him. He peered under his eyelids, and what he saw made his heart stop.

"This should be enough for you," said Dorothy, her Brazilian accent still heavy, except it _wasn't_ Dorothy. Her once light-brown eyes had been corrupted by sleek black ones, only to disappear a blink after. She held up the needle, the tip dribbling transparent fluid, and seized his arm. Kyle's eyes flew open as he sat up, trying to free himself while raking his mind for the right incantation.

_"R-regna t...terrae, cantate Deo-"_

"Save your breath, angel." "Dorothy" grabbed his neck and forced his back against the cot. She was too fast to track, on top of Kyle before he could cry out for help, and tightened the pressure on his throat. "You're gonna need it when you start pleading for mercy."

"Hands off the boy. _Now_."

The demon and Kyle peered towards the source of the hardened voice. Kyle recognized him immediately, by face and by fear. This person, this creature, who'd stalked him for years, having not said a word until the night Libby was taken. His nameless guardian, masked with austerity and unforgiving eyes; standing in the center of the room, as rigid as a soldier, blade ready to fight.

"Two angels? Must be my lucky day," the demon purred. She slipped off Kyle effortlessly, sank her fingers into his shoulder, and nabbed him in front of her like a shield. He screamed out and struggled to extricate himself, which antagonized the demon to dig her nails in deeper, the blood welling faster and seeping through his white shirt. "Now I just have to decide which one of you to kill first."

"Kyle, close your eyes." The stranger ordered, then started to glow. First his eyes, burning green to celestial blue, then the rest of his body. The pure light cascaded a backdrop of shadows against the whitewashed walls. Wings. it the last thing Kyle witnessed before he obeyed the creature and turned his head away. There was the sound of searing flesh, and the stench assaulted Kyle's nose. He heard the demon cry out in agony and, as soon as her hold on him slipped, he shoved her away and ran.

* * *

"Seriously, don't they have anyone manning this place?" Dean griped. "Come on!"

The Winchesters cased out the facility in search of anyone who'd direct them to Kyle's room. It wasn't how things were normally done, but they didn't have much of a choice. The waiting area was completely vacant, and the sterile, quiet atmosphere was too much for Dean, who insisted they search for Kyle themselves. It would've been easy to assume the treatment center was deserted, had it not been for the occasional doctor or nurse flitting in and out of rooms, offices, and elevators; yet whenever the hunters asked for Kyle Chase, they received the same blank stares and clinical smiles.

"This is why I don't, nor will I _ever,_ do hospitals." Dean continued to grumble and protest. "It's worse than the DMV!"

"Yeah, things do seem a little off around here," said Sam, mostly to placate his brother. But the more they looked around, entering the dining area, the more suspicious they became.

"We gotta find Kyle. Come on." Dean led the way, and Sam followed closely. Frantic slaps against the tile diverted their attention to a boy in white. His frail body hustled down the hallway towards them, but his eyes were filled with terror.

"Is that…? Whoa, hey!" The moments Sam recognized Kyle and nabbed him were hard to distinguish. Kyle yelled hysterically, delirious, struggling in his captor's vise-like hold. "Kyle, it's me! It's Sam! Sam Winchester!"

 _"Sam?"_ Kyle repeated the name, breathless. Ignoring his burning lungs and the pain in his shoulder, he looked at him properly. "I thought...I t-thought you left California. How did you find me?"

"Long story. What's going on?" Sam eyes widened at the large bloodstain, noticing the puncture wound. "What the hell happened?"

"Think I got a good guess," Dean said, backing his way closer to Kyle and Sam protectively. He lifted the back of his shirt and un-tucked a loaded caliber.

"Would you look at that." Across from them stood Dorothy, the rest of the possessed faculty soon joining her. A few patients also walked into their line of sight, blinking to reveal beady black eyes. "Two angels _and_ the Winchesters."

Sam frowned. "Angels?" He looked down at Kyle, who grunted as he helped him stand, arm around his neck. Kyle shook his head, wordlessly telling the brothers he had no idea.

At the confirmation, Dean scoffed and refocused his attention on the hoard of demons, particularly Dorothy. "Nice try, but save it."

"Ah, right, you _still_ don't know." Dorothy purred, approaching a dining room chair, and sat down. Bloody cuts on her scalp and arms were noticeable, the injury to her upper-chest severe. The chances of her meatsuit surviving were slim to none. "This whole time, Kyle's had a little birdie watching over him. He doesn't play nice though." She pouted.

"Who is he?" Kyle forced all the firmness he could muster in his voice, but it was hard to stay awake. His shoulder wound throbbed, and he hissed at the sudden pressure against it. Sam pressed down harshly with his palm.

"He goes by Amenadiel," Dorothy replied casually, lightly bouncing her foot. The glossy shimmer in her black eyes reflected nothing but amusement. "And he's the angel responsible for kidnapping your sister. More or less."

 _What?_ The blood pumping through Kyle's veins went cold. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to it, gun cocked and ready.

"There's no such thing as angels. Kyle, don't listen to her. And you," He looked at Dorothy and placed his finger over the trigger, "You can shove all that crap back up your ass."

"About to kill me already? How sad." She slumped forward in her chair, legs apart and gazing down the barrel of the gun. "If you spare me, I might let slip some information about Olivia. Or John Winchester."

The brothers stiffened, but the negotiating air was disturbed; rippling through like an electric current, until a great presence filled the entire room. A tall dark-skinned man stood behind Kyle and Sam, his body carved with muscle and a prominent, strong face. "That is enough, _demon_ ," he commanded. His voice was deep and resolute, and the only thing remotely warm about him were his green eyes; until they burned away and glowed a dangerous celestial blue once again. "You will say no more."

A sudden force seized both Sam and Dean, knocking them back. Amenadiel resisted Kyle's writhing with ease, and ignored his tapering protests, as he closed a large hand over the shoulder wound. A slight warmth and bright light appeared, then vanished, as Amenadiel pulled back his hand and unsheathed his blade.

"Kyle!" Sam called out as he pushed himself up, going back over to him. Kyle's head slumped against his shoulder, eyes slipped shut, and the sight sent a spike of fear through him.

"I rendered him unconscious," Amenadiel assured. He stared the lot of demons head-on. "You must take Kyle and leave. I will handle this."

"Dean, look at this…" Sam whispered, unable to believe what he was seeing. Dean broke his gaze from Amenadiel, Dorothy, and the demons to instead approach Kyle's opposite side. "It's _gone_. The wound, he...he healed him."

"And did god knows what else." Dean scowled. He was itching for a fight now more than ever, but it was two against the entire facility. Not to mention whatever the hell _this guy_ was. A monster would always be a monster; but if it gave them a way out, that just meant they had another day to live and track it back down. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Dean hitched Kyle onto Sam's back, and they moved furtively out the facility, weapons ready in case of an attack. Baby soon came into view, and Dean swung open her doors for Sam to tuck Kyle into the backseat. The hunters sat up front and, with only a sparing glance to the rear-view mirror, took off down the road.

* * *

The hoard hissed and broke into a sprint, attacking the angel in unison without a second thought. A patient smile slicked its way across Dorothy's face, watching her loosely-considered brethren be stabbed, punched, pushed, and tossed like the pitiful pawns they were. _Expendable._

"That's quite enough, don't you think?" She sighed and eased out the chair. A pile of bodies lay surrounding Amenadiel, his chest heaving. The tip of his angel blade had been colored with blood, and the distorted sight of him made Dorothy grin.

"There is nothing for you to smile about." Amenadiel rolled one of his burly shoulders, then the other, before stepping over the litter of corpses towards her. "For what you were about to do to Kyle, I should strike you where you stand."

"Mmm, right. _Kyle._ What _is_ his real name anyway?" Dorothy asked instead, her eyes sparking with curiosity. "He must be quite important, after all, to be involved in Winchester business."

A sharp scoff left the angel as he turned, prepared to walk away. "Focus on your job, demon, and your job alone. Cross the line again and I will kill you."

"Ah-ah, before you flutter on high and resume your stalking, _he'd_ like a word with you."

Amenadiel sensed a shift in presence and turned. Replaced by Dorothy stood Yellow Eyes himself, who chuckled while assessing the casualties. "You love breaking my toys, don't you?"

"Azazel, I will only say this once. Stick to your end of the plan," said the angel. "And keep a tighter hold on the other demons. Your 'Dorothy' came too close to bringing Kyle harm."

"Don't you mean _our_ end? Hmm? Dearest old chum?" The demon hoisted himself atop a table, patting the spot beside him. When Amenadiel didn't move, only stared, he snickered patronizingly. "My, what anal over-sized birds you are. Loosen up! Dorothy's just having a little fun, and you are too. Admit it."

"There is nothing _enjoyable_ about this," the Seraph seethed, tempted to slash the other's throat there and then. "The only reason why I allowed you to take Olivia Chase is to motivate Kyle in accompanying the Winchester's. But if you lay one finger on her..."

"Yes, yes, enough with the threats." Azazel rolled his eyes, which glinted with annoyance. "Did you give him the books?"

"Of course," answered Amenadiel. "He's a natural warrior. This will all come easily to him, with time."

Azazel smirked. "Yeah well, you keep an eye on your pretty boy. From a distance. The Winchester's will mobilize and come to us soon enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More will be revealed over later chapters, such as flashbacks, explanations, and Amenadiel's occasional dealings with the demons. If you enjoyed, please leave a comment! I'd love to interact with some of you!


	3. Breakfast at Bobby's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Originally this was a long update filled with dialogue, backstory, and lots of setup. So long, that I decided to divide it into two chapters. The story is probably going to be mostly character-driven until the plot picks up more. Kyle is (inadvertently) settling into a new lifestyle and budding a stronger friendship with Sam, so bear with me as I try to make that believable. Or as believable as possible, given Kyle’s otherworldly circumstances.
> 
> Much love to RowenaMacLeod for the kudos!

CHAPTER TWO / BREAKFAST AT BOBBY'S

_"There are no facts, only interpretations."_

Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

A musty stench assaulted Libby's nose and jolted her awake. She jerked her head around, frantic, and felt something scratch her face. Rough material, like an old potato sack, itched at her throat. The thought of breathing properly grew farther from her mind as she clawed at her neck, feeling out the rope; until the most bloodcurdling noise stilled her completely.

"Hush, hush…" A voice too sweet cooed at someone. Through the veil, Libby could make out four figures in the distance. Their silhouettes had been still...until one tumbled to the floor, gasping for air. "Just relax, and bleed."

Libby squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think of something else; of her friends, of her mom and Kyle, and not of the gurgling. She flinched and screamed the most common constellations in her head, looping them into a mantra, hoping to drown out the sound of torn flesh. _Aquarius. Aquila. Aries_. Of dragging and cutting. _Canis Major. Cassiopeia_. Of dripping, as the struggling stopped, and that silhouette finally relaxed; lifeless, and a husk.

"Enough already. Give it to me." There was rustling, and Libby tried to move in sync with it to mask the noise. _Cygnus. Gemini. Leo._ She loosened the rope and slipped it from her neck, pushing the sack from her head. Her chains dragged across the wet floor and clanked against something they were attached to. _Oh shit._

"We're still on schedule," said the woman. "Kyle Chase is with the Winchesters." There was a pause, and Libby stiffened. "In Sioux Falls, yes."

"No…" A whimper escaped her lips. They'd mentioned Kyle before, but what did they _want_ with him? Is that why they had taken her, to lure him in? And just _who_ were the Winchesters? Ignoring the weight around her ankles, Libby crawled faster. Blindly. Achingly. They hadn't fed her in days, and her body was weak and cold.

"I understand, Father. Just promise me when this is all over with, I get to kill her? She's annoying me...Yes...Yes, of course...oh, _thank you_ , sir. Of course."

Libby's chains reached their maximum range and struck the pipes again. "Shit…!" Footsteps approached and yanked back her shoulder. Forced to roll over, her gaze was met by a pair of sleek black eyes and a familiar grin.

"Time to have some fun."

Libby's heart went into overdrive. In a moment's breath, she'd grabbed a crowbar just as Dorothy pulled her forward. Her body twisted and thrust itself in for an attack, surrendering to blind faith. A scream filled the dank air and echoed through the halls.

* * *

**_Eight Hours Later_ **

**_Sioux Falls, South Dakota_ **

Sam could hardly believe what he was reading. He'd spent the morning going through Kyle's book collection, and what he saw was beyond discomforting. Blocks of text had been highlighted, and Kyle's scrawl littered the margins; meticulously at first, until his handwriting seemed to decompose, scratched out deliriously and smudged. _(_ _Some kind of spell?_ _Summoning?_ ... _Can be killed by bone of of a calf(?), dipped in blood...rusted iron, pure? Rock salt? Corpse blood (plus) Vampires (equals) K.O (poison?)_... _Fuck hex bags._ ) He couldn't help but chuckle at that last part. The next half of the books focused not on creatures like ghosts or werewolves but on demons and angels. _Incantations. Seances. Possession rituals. Wardings._ Page after page it went on: about the start of Creation, Lucifer's reign and the Fall of Man, the first Demon and Mark of Sin, and the birth of Hell and the Expansion of the Heavenly Host. Until all traces of Kyle's humor vanished, leaving behind a madman's trail of information.

"For the last time, he's fine," Sam heard Bobby say, most likely to Dean. "Feel him up anymore and I'mma start asking you questions."

"How 'bout we try answering some of mine?" The rickety refrigerator door was opened then slammed shut; and, to no one's surprise, pop went a bottle cap. "Like why some prissy college boy put out his own APB on me and Sam? After he, _out of nowhere_ , winds up where Jess got killed? And _after_ ," Dean emphasized, which made Sam guess Bobby tried to say something, "his sister is kidnapped by the _very same_ demon Dad just so happens to be out for blood for?"

"Well, why don'tcha wake the boy up? I doubt he's gettin' much good rest with you rattling about."

Sam gathered the books and stood, coming into the living room. "Don't wake him just yet. I think I found something."

"Really?" Dean scoffed and took a swig of his beer, barely giving the books a glance as he went to sit down. "We've been through 'em already, Sam. Backwards and forwards. If I see one more chapter about _angel lore_ ," he said, making air quotes before slumping in front of his computer, "I think I'mma barf."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that angels might exist?" Sam placed the books on the edge of Bobby's desk, frowning. "Especially after what we saw-"

"Lemme stop you right there," said Dean. He gave his brother an incredulous look. "You're not actually buying that demon's story. I'm not hearing this right, _right_?"

But Sam was persistent. "What would she get out of lying to us about that?"

"Newsflash, genius! Demons _lie_!" Dean retorted stubbornly. "Repeat after me. Angels. Don't. Exist. Never have, never will. That Amena-whoever guy-"

_"Amenadiel."_

" _Whoever_ , he was just a jackass that hopped inside a meatsuit and decided to mess with our heads. That's all it is."

"By healing Kyle and buying us time to run?" Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, walking past him into the kitchen. "Whatever, Dean."

"If you idjits are done dicking around," said Bobby, just as a feeble groans filled the air, "Sleeping Beauty's finally awake."

Sam half-turned from the fridge, and Dean leaned away from his laptop. All hunters' eyes were on Kyle, who stirred and sat up on the ragged couch. "Sam…?" Dark and thick curls hung in his face, and the circles under his eyes were more pronounced than before. He pushed back the blanket and tried to move around a little, wincing. "Augh, I feel like shit."

"It's probably from the meds wearing off," Sam suggested, softening his voice. He went over to Kyle and handed him a bottle of juice along with a pack of crackers. "Don't push yourself."

"Thanks," Kyle rasped out. It felt like he had cotton stuck in his throat, which encouraged him to unscrew the bottle cap quickly and wash it down. His ill-rested eyes looked from Sam, then to Dean and Bobby as his gulps filled the expectant silence. He caught onto the drift and, with a final deep swallow, let out a breath. "So, where am I exactly?"

"In Sioux Falls," said Sam, carefully. He was cautious not to offer any other details for now.

Bobby had other thoughts in mind. "South Dakota."

 _"South Dakota?"_ Halfway through, Kyle's voice cracked. Sam tossed a sharp look at Bobby, who gave him an arm-crossed shrug. "You can't be serious!"

"Oh, we're serious alright." That was when Dean took over. He got up and rounded the table, so he could lean against the ledge. "As serious as you were paying for somebody to keep an eye on me and my little brother."

" _Dean…_ " Sam tried getting his attention but to no avail.

Kyle raked a hand through his mop-like hair and tugged at it. "I was just...I didn't know what else to _do_ ," he admitted, the anxiety pouring into his voice. "He told me to find Sam, that it was the only way to get back Libby-"

"Who told you?"

"Amenadiel," Kyle said. He sounded almost as exhausted as he looked. "The guy you saw at the facility."

"The _angel_?" Dean quirked an eyebrow. His eyes met with Kyle's, who frowned, quickly realizing what was happening.

"You don't believe me."

"We _do_ believe you, Kyle." Sam glared at Dean until his brother backed off. The other Winchester threw his hands up, returning to his laptop with a majority of his attention focused on finishing his beer. Sam pulled a chair towards Kyle and sat next to him. "Dean's just suspicious. Usually it's never good news if someone's following us."

Kyle sighed. "I just needed to find you, Sam. An address, phone number...anything. I wouldn't have unless it was something _this_ serious." He turned towards Dean. "Those things back at La Casa. They're demons, right?"

"You tell me." Dean gestured to Kyle's books on the edge of Bobby's desk. "Bit of a weird hobby you picked up, don'tcha think?"

Kyle's jaw clenched. "Listen, I don't care what it looks like to you. And I don't even care what it is you and Sam do for... _a living_ , I guess?" He glanced at Sam, then back to Dean again. "My sister is gone. Everyone thinks I'm a killer. I've been locked up in a psychiatric facility _for almost two weeks_ , wasting away any time I might have on getting Libby back. So before you _also_ begin doubting everything I say, why don't you just hear me out?"

It wasn't Kyle's words, but something laced within them that got Dean's attention. He scrutinized the guy's tiny frame, sized him up. Sam lingered closely to his side, trying to be the protective barrier between his life now with Dean and his life then with people like Kyle. Yet Kyle himself stared Dean straight on. Pushing past the fatigue and helplessness, past what he usually was and had been, to take on what he didn't know. The least Dean could do was listen, and figure out what to do from there.

Bobby lifted himself from his chair. "Got a feeling it's gonna be a while. I'll fetch us some grub."

* * *

"So you don't remember anything about the accident?" asked Sam, smacking away Dean's hand when he reached for his fries.

"Not really," Kyle said. He plucked at his burger, but at least the onion rings were gone. Bobby had went out and bought them food from the diner, then went out again to finish some errands. "I mean, maybe? It happened a while ago."

"Hmph," Dean grunted, lips puckered around his straw he slurped from, before setting the cup down. "Figured it'd be kinda easy remembering something that turned your insides into mush."

Kyle heard a thump beneath the table, coming from Sam's direction, followed by Dean emitting another grunt and saying Kyle was hedging. He wasn't wrong, but not fully right either. "It's like...I was seeing it through someone else's eyes. It was dark and really cold. Like I had something important taken away from me." He looked down at the table, avoiding the hunters' gazes. "Someone called me their brother, and...I could've sworn I heard Amenadiel's voice."

"He's been tracking you that long?" Sam asked, now piecing it together. "Then, back at Stanford, that's who was following you."

As Kyle nodded, Sam watched him guiltily. Back when they were working on their term paper together, Kyle did his best to not appear jittery. Others had teased him for acting skittish, which he ignored, too busy looking over his shoulder. At first, Sam had chalked it up to lack of sleep or stress. Yet the longer he observed Kyle, exuding his fear when he thought no one was watching, the more tempting it became to ask Bobby or a friend of his to scope things out. But then Sam remembered, had _reminded_ himself, he was done with that life. Letting anyone in, even for a harmless favor, would threaten to change everything. And that was exactly what had happened. Not only for him, but for Kyle as well.

"It's not your fault, you know." Those words brought Sam back to the present, regretful and confused. But Kyle appeared sincere. "You didn't know what was going on. And I didn't tell anyone, besides my mom." Which then reminded him, causing him to pale. "Shit…"

"No worries," Sam said, "we gave her a number she could reach us by." He took out his cell phone and searched for a Long Beach area code.

"She hasn't called by now? That's kinda unlike her." And by kinda, Kyle meant _really_ unlike her.

"A few times. I hit her back and said you'd call once you woke up," said Dean, watching Sam hand Kyle his phone. "But before you do, I gotta ask you something. It's kinda personal but whatever."

Kyle snorted. "Well, at least you're straight forward."

"And a jerk," Sam added.

"Bitch." Dean nudged his brother, then asked Kyle, "You said some guy called you his brother. Did your mom maybe…?"

"Ugh, dude. Really?" Kyle turned up his nose. "The most scandalous thing my mom's ever done is not bring enough guacamole to a dinner party. Whoever that guy was, didn't know what he was talking about."

"Well, maybe she was a bit more risque back in her heyday." The suggestion earned Dean another thump beneath the table, which he dodged this time. "Fine. Maybe your dad?"

Kyle tensed up a little. Sam noticed the reaction and glared at Dean, who shrugged and mouthed something at him defensively. "Um, probably not. He was with my mom pretty much throughout high school until he died, so…"

Apparently, Sam won the brother's little silent argument. Dean sagged his shoulders and pushed over his remaining burger to Kyle. "Sorry. Shouldn't have brought it up."

"Nah, it's cool." Kyle held back a grimace but appreciated the gesture. "It was a long time ago, when Libby was like, seven? Anyway, Mom and Dad wouldn't do that to each other. They had something special. Which is kinda hard to get, these days."

"I know what you mean." Dean paused, but offered a little more by saying, "Our parents did, too."

Kyle caught on quickly and smiled. "You think your dad can really find this thing?"

"Maybe." Sam spoke up, after watching the two silently. "But first, we have to find _him_."

"And we _will_ ," Dean asserted, mostly to Sam, "after we check out a few more things. He'll appreciate that we were thorough."

"Appreciate? That'll be a first."

Sensing the tension, made obvious by the way the brothers looked at each other, Kyle turned away. He pressed 'Dial' on the first number he recognized immediately, which picked up immediately after the second ring. _"Dean, how is he?"_

"Hey, Mom."

 _"Kyle?"_ He heard her let out a breath, and the relief almost rubbed off on him. Until he remembered why he was here in the first place. _"Oh god, sweetie, are you okay? Where are you?"_

"Dean didn't tell you?"

 _"He just said you were safe, and would call me when you got up. But_ are _you okay?"_

He chuckled. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine." As fine as he possibly could be, given the situation. Kyle walked into the kitchen and sat at a small table, gazing out the window. "Sam and Dean brought me to a close friend of theirs." He then braced himself. "He lives in South Dakota."

_"South Dakota?"_

"I know, _I know_. But he's nice. Like a grouchy Mr. Rogers or something," Kyle mumbled, making two eavesdroppers from the other room snicker. _Guess they're done griping_ , he thought. "Once everything settles down, I'll start heading that way."

 _"As much as I don't like you that far away, stay there."_ She sounded more urgent, if not a bit scared. Kyle sat up more in his seat.

"Mom? What's going on?"

 _"The facility you were in, it's all over the news."_ Hearing that, his heart skipped a beat. _"The police came by a few hours ago, looking for you here, asking questions. I told them I didn't know anything and filed a missing person's report."_

"Did they see anyone's faces?" Sam and Dean perked up at the one-sided conversation. They looked at Kyle inquisitively, who'd stood and looked around for the tv. Sam unearthed it from Bobby's junk and, with a little teamwork, quickly found the remote.

 _"That's being kept private for now, but I personally asked Abbey to do some digging. Most of the footage was corrupted, and the rest doesn't get a good luck at anyone."_ This, Kyle didn't find surprising. Who knew how many other freaky things happened, but no one knew the truth because the proof was "altered" or "lost"? _"But now they know you're missing, and I want to keep it that way. They took you from me once, baby. I'm not letting them do it again."_ Even with the tv on, Kyle heard his mother loud and clear. Protectiveness rung in her voice, as did desperation.

 _"Authorities are currently investigating the disappearance of Kyle Chase. The 22-year-old Stanford student had recently been admitted into La Casa Psychiatric Health Facility for evaluation, after allegedly committing arson and kidnapping his sister, Olivia Chase. As of now, Long Beach Police are not certain if the disappearances are related to each other or to the death of Jessica Moore…"_ When her picture flashed on screen, Kyle was unable to look anywhere but at Sam. The hunter flexed his jaw, but most of him was relaxed. At least on the surface. Dean also noticed and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Sam shrugged it off and muttered something about beer, heading into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.

Kyle finally turned away. "You really don't think I did this, Mom?"

 _"I_ know _you didn't do this, Kyle,"_ she answered, so convinced, and that comforted him. _"Sam and Dean know you didn't either, and that's why I'm trusting them with you. But you have to promise me something…"_

"What?"

She hesitated. _"Let Sam and Dean, and whoever else they get involved, find your sister. I don't want you getting hurt."_

"Mom, I can't just _sit_ here and-"

 _"I mean it, Kyle. I'm not entirely sure of what's going on, or what took your sister, but I know it's…"_ She stumbled over her answer, which Kyle caught onto. _"I-I know it isn't normal. But you and Libby have been through enough. More than enough. I want_ both _of you coming home to me, not just one."_

Kyle slipped his eyes shut, breathing out slowly. "...Fine. I promise. But now you have to promise me something."

_"Promise what?"_

"That you'll be honest."

 _"Of course,"_ she said, voice gentle, even softer than his. _"I always have been."_

"Tell me everything that happened after the accident." Noticing a pen lying about, Kyle grabbed it, fidgeting. "Everything you know."

_"...You already know everything, dear."_

Sam came back into the room, two cold beers in one hand and another for Kyle in the opposite. He took it, trying to ignore the way the brothers' staring burned a hole in his back. "I thought I did, Mom, but...now I'm not so sure. The way you paused like that wasn't very reassuring."

 _"I was just taken by surprise,"_ she said quickly. _"That's all. You haven't asked about this in years. Why now?"_

"Because that person, who I've been saying is stalking me? He was at the facility."

 _"Darling, Sam and Dean broke you out of that place. I'm sure a lot was going on,"_ she tried to suggest. _"You could've been confused, especially if you were on-"_

"I wasn't on drugs, Mom." Kyle popped off the cap and took a sip of his beer, now in need of it. "I know what I saw. Just like I know now that you're hiding something."

 _"Kyle Joseph Chase, I do not appreciate this tone you're using."_ Usually when she pulled the "full name" card, Kyle gave in. It wasn't a big deal; since his dad's death, he'd grown closer to his mom and to his sister. Which was why this was hard to do. His mother was trying to cover it up, whatever _it_ was, while Kyle thought they told each other everything.

"Mom…" His voice was colder, full of hurt. "Libby could be dead right now. And all that might be coming home, with me, is her body. I don't know if you hid whatever you have from me to protect me or what, but I need to know about it now." When she remained quiet, Kyle went ahead and asked, "Back at the collision site, a stranger called me his brother. I couldn't see anyone's faces, but I heard Amenadiel's voice. Do you know who that is?"

 _"Yes."_ She then went on to explain, as defeat weighed down her voice. _"He is the man who brought you to hospital, after he and his brother saved you."_

* * *

**_Five Years Ago_ **

**_Long Beach Memorial Medical Center_ **

He sat in an open area, full of people and windows. The chair had been stitched with materials quite foreign to him, as were the lights looming over his head. Voices filtered above and below, and eyes glanced curiously in his direction, but he focused on none of them. His attention had been enraptured by the mosaic in front him. It was displayed panoramically, enriched with colors and shades and the illusion of depth. Smaller people had been printed along the bottom, but they were frozen in the actions he'd seen the living ones perform fluidly: holding hands, carrying small children on their shoulders, and sitting in odd chairs. Of all the buildings that loomed over the frozen people in the painting, however, the gigantic circle stood out most.

"Amenadiel," he spoke, sensing the other behind him, "what do you call this?"

The Seraph looked at the two-dimensional image that his brother pointed to. "A ferris wheel."

He took a moment to consider this new bit of information. Sifting past his vessel's mind, looking for his own, feeling anxious ( _Anxious?_ How odd.) until he found what he was looking for. _A memory_. "The Ferris wheel, invented by the son of George Ferris?"

"That is the one."

"Ah." He smiled fondly. "Yes, I now remember." When the angel himself had not been busy, he'd inquire Anna about her observations of the humans. They were endless, since she'd watched them for days, decades even. Until he himself had given in and spent time in the heavens of those people, which Anna revealed had done so many peculiar but amazing things, like inventing ferris wheels. It was nearly impossible to believe that he was now one of them.

"Kyle!"

The angel frowned and looked over at his brother. "Did you tell her where to find me, Amenadiel?"

"Even if I hadn't, your present appearance is anything but inconspicuous," he answered, gesturing to the other's "hospital clothes". The angel didn't understand why he had been stripped and placed into such garments. They made him feel too exposed. Yet it had also given him the time to enjoy the sensations Earth had to offer more intensely.

"Kyle! Oh god, _there_ you are." The woman who came up to him breathed heavily. Her skin was red from physical exertion, and he could still sense her fear. "Why are you out here? And how did they even let you leave your room?"

The angel tilted his head. "I am sorry if I frightened you, Mother." He found this interaction interesting, if not a bit alarming as Diane Chase grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward. Yet the seizure appeared to be an embrace of sorts, and he observed how it made his vessel feel. Even in his deep slumber, Kyle was comforted by the hold. _Was it the pressure? The warmth?_ Regardless, it brought the boy peace; which was the angel's mission, to bring him restfulness and protection, and the least he could do for suspending his life. The angel returned the woman's embrace, mirroring the way her arms looped his body.

"It's alright, sweetie." Now it appeared something had clogged her airways. She released him and pulled back, eyes and nose as red as her cheeks. "You're probably just loopy from the medicine. I see Amenadiel was watching you."

The Seraph nodded curtly. "He wanted to see the paintings."

Diane glanced towards the mosaic. A mysterious, nearly breathless chuckle escaped her. "I should've known. I was gonna keep this a surprise until we got back your ACT scores, but might as well tell you now." She looked back at the angel, at _Kyle_ , then. "Life's too short to wait, right?"

The expression on her face nearly took his breath away. Pain unbeknownst to his kind came off of her in waves. So much pain, in fact, it stirred his vessel in the soothing darkness of his mind and troubled them both. Through new eyes, the angel considered the woman; this mother, and how she managed to smile in spite of all she'd seen last night, had suffered throughout the morning. He continued to watch her, listening morbidly. "I'm taking some time off, so we can visit the Pike. All these years living here..., and we've only been to it once together. Grandpa's taken you, and you've gone alone with Libby, but I...I know it's my fault. It was your father's favorite place, and after I lost him, I just couldn't go. But after tonight-" The woman stopped herself, choking, and the angel held her worriedly. The action was less mechanical this time, more real. More _Kyle_.

"Thank you," his mother whispered. "Thank you for not giving up." She started secreting tears, and Kyle mirrored them. The angel felt himself leak, felt himself feel, and it was discomforting. Terrifying. He held the woman tighter, and was squeezed tighter. "Maybe a God truly is watching over us…"

* * *

_What is this place, brother?_

_It's Earth. Father's most flawed design. And it is the place far more corrupt than Hell._

"The place more corrupt than Hell," the angel murmured, mimicking Michael's words. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he read the back of the Bible with bitter amusement. "But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars...they will be consigned to the burning lake of sulfur. This is the second death." Firmly, he shut Revelations and pushed it aside. "Tell me, Amenadiel. What is the purpose of the second death?"

"Not even a full day as a human, and you already question the Word of God?" In the corner of the room, the Seraph spoke in a rigid chair. His angel blade rested atop the wobbly table, since it had been hours after visiting hours ended.

The angel frowned, and the Bible flew across the room, pages scattering. " _That_ isn't the Word of God. I've seen the original drafts and, let me tell you, I'm disappointed with what's come of it."

"It is only logical to expect passages to be lost, rewritten, and mistranslated," Amenadiel justified. "We do not change, brother. Humans do. That means their morality changes as well. But we must be grateful that the most relevant passages have remained mostly unedited."

"Mostly?" The other angel scoffed and looked away. His knees were now hugged to his chest, and it was becoming easier to be Kyle. For Kyle and his family's sake. "There should be _no_ second death, Amenadiel. These humans suffer enough, only to be judged for how they dealt with their predestined misery. Heaven _or_ Hell, how fair is that?"

"There is no place greater than Heaven or worse than Hell. It's befitting."

"For who, exactly? Michael's ego?"

Finally, he managed to incite some emotion from his appointed overseer. "You are behaving like a child. And your ignorance rivals Lucifer's. Do you wish to see Heaven again, brother? For if you continue to read down this dangerous path, neither of us shall return."

The angel looked out the window. The room was on one of the top floors, and he supposed, to humans, this would seem pretty high. _And above this, the atmosphere. Thermosphere. The Milky Way. Space._ To them it was endless, deductible by numbers that could run on forever. Pure madness, but in the endearing way. "Would it be so bad, Amenadiel? To not be angel or human, but something in-between? Anna's already done it. She's still alive out there, I can sense it."

Amenadiel stood and went over to him. "Enough, you are in need of rest." But as his fingers neared the angel's forehead, his hand was held. The palm was caressed by the angel's thumb, in an awkward attempt to imitate what he'd seen transpire between relatives comforting their bedridden loved ones.

"When you touch me, make sure I forget," he said, and slowly closed his eyes. "Just for a little while."

"And Kyle?"

"He is important to my brothers' plans, is he not? Let him remember what I have seen, gradually. Educate him, as I've been educated." Numerous books lined the side wall, just beneath the windowsill. "Especially of Raziel's work."

"You know his work is forbidden," said Amenadiel. Hearing the exasperation in his voice, the other angel smiled, and that irked him.

"All the more reason for him to read. He is my vessel, after all. He must know what I know." His head sank more into the pillow. "It's only a matter of time before Raziel finds me, anyway."

"Let's hope not," answered the Seraph, before tapping the angel's forehead and granting his request. "Until then, brother."

* * *

 _"The person responsible was never found,"_ Diane continued, as Kyle slowly came back to the present. _"By the time Amenadiel and his brother found you, Ben and Elena were already dead. He brought you to the hospital, called me, and waited with you until I got there. He even stayed when I had to leave and Libby had to go back to school. And I guess he kept checking up on you, from what you're telling me."_

Holding the phone away, he looked at the time. Hardly two minutes had passed, when it felt like it had been _hours_. But how was that possible? Was he just that out of it?

 _"I never told you because there wasn't much of a reason to. You were fine, Kyle._ More _than fine. The doctors didn't find anything wrong with you, other than a few scars. And the scars actually helped you, because the muscle that grew back was stronger, protecting any damaged nerves. You started exercising more, got sick less...And I was just so happy you were_ alive _...I didn't want to think of why."_

"I understand, Mom," Kyle said, distracted. "Listen, I have to go. I'll call in the morning, okay?"

_"Kyle? You're not angry with me, are you?"_

He sighed. "No. I want to be…, but no. I just wish I could've known all of this sooner. That Libby could've known, so she wouldn't have…"

_"I know, baby. They'll find her. I know they will."_

"How?" Kyle had wandered into some random room, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He simply groped for a seat and slumped in it. "Their dad's been looking for this thing for years. And Amenadiel, I don't think...I don't think he's _human_ either, Mom."

 _"I'm not even going to try make sense of it, and you shouldn't either,"_ she said, more to herself than to him. It was a little too late for that. How could Kyle do anything _but_ think of why Libby was taken, what was happening to her, and how he of all people, her own _brother_ , had to sit on the sidelines unable to help? _"There are a lot of things beyond our control, Kyle. Who are we to make sense of what they are? We have faith. We have science. At the end of the day, good is still good and bad is still bad. That's all we can know."_

A wry smiled tugged at Kyle's cheek. "I'll be sure to tell the other guys that. See what they say."

His mother chuckled. Now, he was sad to let her go. _"Make sure you eat right and get enough rest. I may not be there, but I still expect you to take care of yourself."_

"I will, and hey, um...we should...drop by the Pike again." His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he tugged at his curls anxiously. "You know, soon. Maybe Libby and I can drop by Outer Limits and…"

 _"Not on your life, young man. If either of you ever get a tattoo, you'll be grounded every time you come home to visit. Understand me?"_ She heard him laugh. _"I mean it!"_ And soon it was too difficult not to join in.

A few minutes later, they said their goodbyes and hung up. Kyle then just sat there, lost in his thoughts, until he heard approaching footsteps. In came a looming shadow, which stopped and reached for something.

"Damn, that's bright!" Kyle hissed and shielded his eyes from the sudden light. "Warn a guy next time!"

Sam laughed. "Sorry. You were gone for a while. Dean and I got worried."

"Dean? Worried about me?" Rubbing his eyes, Kyle snorted. "I may not know him all that well, but he doesn't seem the type to miss people much."

"Eh, he's more sensitive than he looks." Sam moved some more stuff out the way and sat across from him. "Like, _a lot_ more sensitive."

"And what's 'a lot more'?" Ironically, it was easier to talk about curmudgeon like Dean than it was anything else. Not only that, but Kyle was curious about the brothers. They had saved his life, after all.

"Like, holding a grudge against me for going to Stanford," Sam replied. The answer was too cut and dry, like he'd gutted the emotion from it. Kyle hummed to himself, and Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

"You just hummed," Sam pointed out, parting his knees and resting his elbows on them. "Like you disagreed with what I said but chose not to say anything."

"Did I…?" Confusion colored the other's face, until he brightened. "Oh! Right, well, I...I guess I kinda just do that? When I'm thinking about something. 'Least Libby says I do. Doesn't necessarily mean I don't agree with you, though."

"Then what were you thinking?"

Kyle shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Guess I was wondering why your brother would be that angry with you, or even mad at all. Stanford's not Ivy League, but it's just as good." _If not better,_ in Kyle's opinion, but Stanford had been his dream school. To say he was a little biased would've been an understatement. "Why would your brother be upset at you for going to a place that's going to help improve your life, if not change it forever? You even met Jess there." But when his thoughts finally caught up to his mouth, he cringed. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's cool, man." Sam took a deep breath and steeled himself. "I've gotta get used to talking about her, or I'm never going to move on. That's why even though I hate you're caught up in all of this, I'm kind of... _glad_ you're here?" It didn't make Stanford seem so long ago, or impossible to find again.

"Yeah? Well, worrying what's happening to my sister every minute of the day isn't exactly my idea of fun," said Kyle, tiredly, but he managed to smile. "But I'm glad I found you. That _you_ found _me_ , rather."

"You came close a few times." Sam smirked. "Just a town or two over, and we would've come sooner. You could've even had Bobby as your lawyer."

This time Kyle laughed, not realizing how serious Sam actually was. "I think I would've had to politely decline. Abbey's been pretty great."

They heard the front door open, and Dean and Bobby's voices were muffled as they greeted each other. The sound of footsteps started up again, until the older Winchester found Sam and Kyle in one of the unused rooms. "The hell have you been? Getting high off the mothballs?"

Kyle shrugged. "Just talking."

"Well I hate to interrupt, but what did your mom say?"

"She got my memory jogging on what happened that night," he said. "And I don't think Amenadiel's actually bad."

"You've got to be _kidding_ me, right now."

With a _bear with me for a second_ look, Kyle's leg began to bounce as he explained. "He was there that night. He _helped_ me. Brought me to the hospital, stayed with me until Mom came, and even after."

"Dean." Sam was incredulous at first, until he remembered. "He did heal Kyle's shoulder. And he bought us time to escape."

"Yeah, I get that. But if he's such a good guy, why be on stealth mode? Just a few hours ago, you were creeped out that he's been stalking you."

Kyle knitted his brow. "Maybe I asked him to? I still don't remember everything, but…" He was getting the feeling that, angel or not, Amenadiel had been sent to protect him. " _Something_ is telling me to trust him."

But Dean eyed him warily. He was all for gut feelings; usually, that was all he had to go off on. But pardon him if he wasn't so ready to trust a guy who'd flown over the cuckoo's nest. Demons _had_ been at La Casa, and it was left to the imagination on what they'd actually done to Kyle. Or what "Amenadiel" had done by touching him. "Well, we'll keep digging. See what we find out. In the meantime, you're staying here."

Recalling the promise he just made to his mother, Kyle frowned. He stood with Sam and followed them into the living room. "And what am I supposed to _do_ here, exactly?"

"What, aren't you Stanford people used to being shut in rooms filled with books?" Dean grabbed one of Kyle's and waved it around, tossing it aside. "Should be a wet dream."

Kyle rolled his eyes and muttered to Sam, "Okay, _now_ I get what you mean."

He grimaced. "Yeah."

* * *

Apparently Sam wasn't against the idea of Kyle staying at Bobby's, because he and Dean were gone the next morning. Kyle bolted straight up from the couch, covering his ears that had been assaulted by shrill ringing. "Christ, make it _stop_."

"Quit yer bitchin' and come over here," said Bobby, approaching the assembly line of phones mounted to the wall. "Your breakfast is getting cold."

 _Good morning to you too,_ thought Kyle, too tired to vocalize anything but a grunt. He peeled himself from the lumpy cushions and shuffled to the kitchen, eyeing the lumpy white grains in front of him. "Grits?"

"There's some bacon to go with it sittin' on the stove," Bobby said, before continuing his conversation with someone. "Not you, ya idjit. Got a kid staying over here." As directed, Kyle grabbed the paper-towel-wrapped pork and sat at the table. He listened to Bobby's drawl and grunts, chuckling occasionally at the man's grumpy attitude. Until the hunter faced him again and asked, "How old are you anyway, kid?"

"Twenty-two."

"Quit pulling my leg." Bobby looked him over, unconvinced. "You barely check out as eighteen."

Kyle shrugged. He got that a lot. "At least I look legal."

"I asked 'cause the boys left by some clothes they never picked up. Try them out and see which ones fit your size."

Kyle looked down at himself and realized how dirty he was. "Now that you mention it, I could use a shower." He grimaced, also still in his facility clothes. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't mention it. The hot water should work, 'least it did earlier this morning. Give me a holler if it's not."

"Sure thing."

The shower was quick but refreshing. Kyle came out in a pair of old sneakers and faded jeans, but the Nirvana shirt still held up over the years. While figuring out what the hell to do with his hair, he wondered whose shirt it used to be, Sam or Dean's. Kyle settled with "fake gelling" his curls with water, considering the products in front of him were far past their expiration date. He then almost lost his way back to the kitchen, since at first glance it hadn't seemed that big. His grits were still on the table, but he noticed steam rise from the bowl. Bobby had apparently popped them into the microwave, and the extra thought made Kyle smile gratefully as he sat at the table.

Bobby finished his round of calls, hanging up the last phone on the far left. He sighed and readjusted his cap. "Just got off the phone with a few hunters. Good pals. When they catch wind of anything that might have to do with your sister, this is the first place they'll call."

"Thanks." Kyle licked the remaining grits from his lips and studied the dated phone setup. "So, this is Hunter HQ or something?"

Bobby propped his feet on a dusty stack of phonebooks. "Guess you can call it that. Anyone who might be of help is dead, so I'm the next sap in line."

Kyle heard the fondness in his crotchety voice and smiled. "How many hunters are out there?"

"Not enough." Bobby took a swig from his beer bottle. "We're pretty spread out though. Which is a good and bad thing, since there ain't good reception in some places."

"Like where?"

"As close to Canada to far as Budapest."

Kyle sat up more in his chair, intrigued. "Seriously? And, all of this stuff...it's real?" He thought about the ghost hunting tv shows Libby was into and the chain emails that were often sent to his spam folder.

"Well, I can't speak for every critter until I see and shoot it," said Bobby. "But there's enough that gets real old, real quick. Just take my word for it, kid."

"Noted." He stood up and took his bowl to the sink.

"Since you ain't busy, mind giving the elderly a helping hand?"

Kyle leaned against the counter, looking around. "Sure. Where do you want me to start?"

"Well, aren't you a cheeky chipmunk." Even at fifty four, Bobby had to resist the urge to stick out his tongue at him. "Come on, I'll show you."


	4. The Waiting Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Before I let it sit too long, here's the next chapter. (Update: In Google Docs, this was forty-seven pages. So instead, here are the next three chapters. My brain is fried, but in a good way. I try to be mindful of spelling and punctuation errors, but even after the updates are published, I go back through them and make small edits.)
> 
> Thank you, baidati for the kudos!

CHAPTER THREE / THE WAITING GAME

_"For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen."_

Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

* * *

_**A Couple Hours Later** _

_**Somewhere in Iowa** _

"Alright, thank you for your time," Sam muttered despondently, hanging up the payphone.

"Your half-caf double vanilla latte's getting cold over here, Francis."

Sam approached their table and sat down. "Bite me."

Dean kept his head lowered, still jotting out some notes, but his cheeky smile was obvious. "So, anything?"

"Nothing. I had them check the FBI's Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe's fitting Dad's description. I even ran his plates for _traffic violations_."

_Not surprising._ "Sam, I'm telling ya, I don't think Dad wants to be found." Garnering no response to that, Dean nudged the laptop towards him. "Check this out. News item out of Plains Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It's only about a hundred miles from here."

Sam looked over the article, partially disinterested. "The mutilated body was found hanging above the victim's car parked on Nine Mile Road."

"Keep reading."

"Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted saying the attacker was 'invisible'."

Dean looked at him with his _ready to go?_ face. "Could be something interesting."

"Or it could be nothing at all." Sam pointed out, as his brother rolled his eyes. "One freaked out witness, who didn't see anything, doesn't mean it's The Invisible Man."

"But what if it is?" And there was always a _what if_. "Dad would check it out."

The Winchesters piled into Baby and headed towards Eastern Iowa University. Along the way there, Sam took out his phone and dialed Bobby's "less serious, but should still answer" number. Dean didn't seem to notice or care, until Quiet Riot was turned down.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Sam shushed him, then glared when his brother turned the radio back up. He raised the cell volume and looked out the window, hearing a familiar voice pick on the other end. _"Singer Salvage Yard. You wreck it, we fix it. Maybe. How may I help you?"_

That caused him to bust out into fits. Dean gave Sam a confused look, and he ignored it. "Really, Kyle? You're going with that?"

_"Sam? Uh, I wasn't...This isn't...Oh god, this is embarrassing..."_

"Oh no, please keep going. I'm liking the idea of Bobby having a secretary."

_"I'm gonna come through this phone and slap you, if you don't stop talking."_ But Kyle's chortling was obvious. _"How's uh, the hunter stuff going?"_

"Oh, you know. It's going," Sam hedged. Kyle was still considered the "normal" part of his life, and he wanted to keep it that way. "Sorry we bailed without telling you. Just wanted to get a head start on searching for Dad."

_"Anything yet?"_

"Nah." The answer was abrupt and filled with guilt. By not finding John, they had little chance in finding Yellow Eyes; which meant it was next to impossible to find Libby. "But when we find something, I'll let you know. Bobby treating you well?"

_"Oh yeah, he's a peach."_ Sam waited for it. _"...That's been left to dry out on hot, blistering porch."_

"Sounds about right."

Kyle chuckled. _"In all seriousness, he's been pretty cool. Made me breakfast and all that. He even lent me some of yours and Dean's old clothes. I'm totally stealing the '42' shirt, by the way."_

"The _hell_ you are. Get your own!"

He laughed. _"Fine, whatever. I'm just pleased to know another Hitchhiker's fan. Let's see, what else...uh, we took a break from going through Bobby's book collection so he could show me how to use the phones. I've talked to a couple of hunters, too. They seemed a little awkward, but were nice enough."_

"Oh, that's…" _Great?_ No, it wasn't. It wasn't at all. "Hey, Kyle? If it feels like Bobby's pressuring you into anything, feel free to speak up. He's a grouch, but he'll understand." From the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Dean look over at him.

_"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind. It's a little overwhelming, but...if I can help Bobby find something, just anything that you guys could use to find Libby? It'll mean a lot to me. Because it means I'm actually doing something."_

Sam couldn't argue with that logic, and he hated that he couldn't. He spoke with Kyle for a couple more minutes then hung up, slumping his head back against the seat.

"It's really eating at you, isn't it?"

"What is?" Sam had his eyes closed. This was one of the big handful of moments when he wished Dean had installed a cab window; something soundproof, that could split them off into their own space up at the front.

Dean turned down the radio and drummed his fingers against the wheel. "Y'know. That Kyle's kinda digging the hunting life." That earned him a scoff.

"Please, Dean. He's answering phones and doing Bobby's beer runs. That's hardly what I'd call the _hunting life_ ," Sam said.

His brother shrugged. "All of us started somewhere. Kyle's already got the drive. All he needs are the tools."

That struck a chord in Sam. "Yeah, because it's always _that_ simple." He gave Dean a heated look. "You know, just because hunting's all we've ever known doesn't mean it should be an option for someone else."

"What're you gonna do, Sammy? Babysit your classmate?"

" _There_ , see? I knew it."

"Knew _what_?"

"That you're acting like this because Kyle's from Stanford!"

Dean sighed. "Sam, it's a school. I don't _hate_ Stanford. I've got _nothing against_ Stanford." Sam went to argue, but he cut him off. "But what I _do_ hate is wondering what's gonna happen when this is all over."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. After we find Dad, gank Yellow Eyes, and things get back to normal, where are you gonna be?" And when Sam was quiet, he gave a sharp _tch_. "Thought so."

"It's not like I can go back to Stanford with Kyle, anyway. After what happened to Jess, I can't."

"But you'll go somewhere else?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair and propped his head against the window. "I mean, _yeah_. This life isn't meant for me, Dean. It's meant for you and Dad. And if I can keep Kyle from…" _From making the same mistake as we did,_ he wanted to say but didn't, "From missing out on things that, for him, are a sure win on getting, I will."

There were many things Dean wanted to respond with. Some were hurtful, and some were downright idiotic, but he was the type of person who said them anyway. Yet every now and then, he didn't. Mostly because he was tired, and the rest of him...the part he refused to acknowledge even existed...was scared. Desperate to cling onto the little family he had left. And although half of him wanted to get Kyle as far away from Sam as possible, to hold onto that little family, the other half hoped Kyle couldn't crawl of the web he was wiggling himself into. Because if Kyle stayed, maybe Sam would stay as well. For a man like Dean Winchester, a hope like that was justified.

"Let's just focus on finding Dad. That much, I'm sure we can agree on." And when Sam said nothing again, he took that as all the agreement he needed.

* * *

_**A Few Hours Later** _

_**Sioux Falls, South Dakota** _

"Overplaying your hand is easy to do as a hunter," Bobby explained. "You think you've got the critter figured out, and you think you know all their strengths and all their weaknesses. But more often than not you've got big blind spots in the lore." He shut one of Kyle's books and tossed it aside. "As soon as you come at the monster, they'll throw you a curve ball. S'why after all this time, John's been unable to find the thing that killed Sam and Dean's mother, killed Jess, took your sister...It ain't like nothing we ever seen before. And nothing fits the glove on how to kill it."

Kyle looked down at the bound yellowed pages in his lap. After spending the afternoon comparing his books with Bobby's, discussing lore and dissecting theories, he felt like they hardly did anything; hardly scratched the surface and got nowhere. "I can't imagine doing this for years. Just looking and hoping…"

"Hope's all we got," said Bobby. "And most of us give up on that, at some point. Then it's just you and the tequila."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"Found something interesting about one of your books, though." Bobby put down the tome and slid it across the floor. "I recognize something in the title but that's about it. _Raziel_. The rest is in a language I've never seen before, and I'm pretty sure it ain't human."

"Oh, yeah. _This_." Kyle managed to get it in his lap and groaned. "I gave up on this one, and if _you_ have then I know it's pointless."

"Hey, I haven't _given up_. I just know the bastard's gonna be a tough nut to crack."

"What if you had some help?" Kyle lifted the book from his lap and got up. "I know just the person to call." _If he hasn't changed his number already,_ he thought.

"Second one to the right." Bobby directed him on which phone to use. "But who did you have in mind?"

"His name is Marshall," he answered. "Went to Stanford for a while, was an IT major. Then he dropped out to go into the broker business."

"That's an awfully polite way to describe a fella that does something shady."

"He's good people, I swear." Kyle bit the inside of his cheek. "And he's kinda the one I asked to look for Sam and Dean."

"Just thought you'd slide that in there, huh?" Bobby snorted.

"Trust me, okay? He can help." Punching in the number, Kyle winced when it picked up immediately and screeched in his ear, _"We're sorry, the number you have dialed has been discon-"_

"Let me guess," said the hunter as Kyle hung up, "prison or hiding out in Panama?"

"Probably the latter. Marshall doesn't stick around in one spot for too long." He went back over to Bobby, then jolted when the phones started up again. They gave each other a look, until Bobby won out and resumed reading while Kyle took the calls.

* * *

_"You sure this is okay, man?"_

_Hearing the familiar vibrations of Sam's voice, Kyle struggled to make out what he was saying over the blaring music. "What?"_

_"I said," the Winchester leaned closer and shouted, "is this okay?"_

_Kyle laughed, despite his leg bouncing like crazy beneath the table. "Yeah, totally fine! But hopefully it'll quiet down after the frat brothers leave."_

_"What?"_

_He laughed and shook his head, waving to Sam to not worry about it. Eventually the Kappa Sigma brothers did bar hop somewhere else, and the chaos from before lost most of its energy. Jess arrived soon after, balancing a tray of rum-and-coke shots and a pile of books. Or at least trying to._

_"Whoa, let me get that for you," said Kyle, hopping out his chair and taking the tray before someone bumped it over. Sam grabbed her pile of books and placed them on the opposite side of the table._

_"Two gentlemen after my own heart." She grinned, sitting herself in Sam's lap. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Whatever shall a woman do?"_

_"How about sharing your brilliance with us?" Kyle smiled crookedly, admiring the two. They really did look good together. "Sam says you're the go to when it comes to philosophy."_

_Jess rolled her eyes. "Did he, now?" She glared half-heartedly at her boyfriend and tried pinching his ear. "You're just running your mouth off about me to everyone, aren't you?"_

_"Ow, hey!" Sam tried pulling his head away. "I didn't say that much." But his mischievous grin suggested otherwise._

_"Uh-huh, sure." She smirked, giving him a "be grateful you're so cute" look before pecking his lips. "Alright, Kyle. I'll help with what I can, then let the books I picked out do the rest of the talking."_

_Almost immediately, Kyle recognized names likes Nietzsche, Huxley, and Kant. He beamed at her. "You're a psych major, Jess. I'm sure you can offer a lot of insight." The three then spent the rest of the evening deliberating ethics, the nature of authority, and what it truly meant to be socially responsible._

The sound of a motorcycle engine roaring past snapped Kyle out of his reverie. _Jess_. It was mind-boggling to think how uneventful memories could turn into the most haunting ones. "Is that bar music I hear in the background?"

Sam chuckled on the other end of the line. _"Yeah, Dean wanted to drop by one. Make some quick cash."_

"Oh, so that's how you roll?"

_"Hey! Hunting's not exactly the most lucrative job. At least I'm not hanging out with Deep Web vultures."_

Snorting, Kyle stretched out on Frumps (Bobby's lump couch, as he unregrettably decided to name it). "Marshall's not a Deep Web vulture. The hell has Bobby been telling you?"

_"Oh no, he used your term, information broker."_ Sam laid the sarcasm on thick. _"Which I know is a load of crap."_

"I'll tell him you said that. Whenever he calls back around. Just don't cry for Dean when you find a weird message in your voicemail."

_"Oh, I'm totally shaking."_

"You should be."

Sam snickered, and they settled into silence. All that could be heard were drunken voices, the purrs of idle bikes, and Sam's occasional sniffling.

"You should go inside," Kyle said after a while. "I'm sure it's cold out there."

_"Nah, I'm good. Just chilling on top of the car, looking at a possible case."_ There was a pause, until he relented. _"I don't...really want to be around anyone right now. It's hard enough talking to Dean and pretending like everything's okay, you know?"_

"Oh. Well…" Kyle started to say something. Anything. But it was exactly how he felt, too. "Yeah. I know."

_"I miss her."_ The confession was uttered so quietly, and Sam changed the subject so quickly, that Kyle almost missed it. _"We're going to find your sister, man. Just trust me on that, okay?"_

"Of course I trust you, Sam. I know you will," he said, deciding to take the risk, "And I miss her, too. I didn't...I didn't know her well or anything, but…"

_"Yeah. I know."_ Kyle then heard Dean approach, gloating about something. _"Oh great, the jerk's here. I better let you go."_

_"Bitch,"_ Dean retorted to his brother. _"Is that pretty boy? Let me talk to him."_

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Is he drunk?"

_"Dean's_ always _drunk."_ Ignoring Dean's protest to that, Sam laughed. _"I'll talk to you later, Kyle."_

He smiled. "Later, guys."

* * *

The next morning marked Kyle's third month at Bobby's. With the normal police, Libby's disappearance would've been stamped as a cold case and buried. But with the supernatural squad, it was _keep looking, keep searching,_ drilled into him like a mantra. He checked in with his mother once a day, at first updating her each time about Libby, until neither of them could bear the disappointment; now he only updated her when they had a lead (or _thought_ they had a lead). Kyle continued reading, continued answering the phones, and continued running out of things to do in between long distance conversations with Sam.

"Need anything?" He approached Bobby's desk and asked. Bugging him, was more like it.

He grunted. "That's the third time today you asked me this, kid."

"Sorry…" Kyle gripped at his curls and tugged them. "I can't help it, Bobby. I feel like I'm going nuts."

"Then grab a beer and put on the tv. Unwind a little."

"...Or I can maybe run some more errands for you?"

When Bobby sighed and finally gave in, Kyle grinned. He went into town and "took his time" with it, just as the hunter pleaded, and fortunately no one recognized him. Rugged clothes and dyed, cut hair apparently had made all the difference. There was no commotion, no one looking at him with a suspecting look, making him feel like a killer. To these people, "Max" was just a boy temporarily staying with the reclusive Bobby Singer. After a while, the stress melted off from Kyle. It was by no means all of it, but at least he felt like he could function properly again. Ever since the nightmares about Libby started up, sleep was harder to get. Everything reminded Kyle of time passing, of the time he was losing to save her. It was one thing to make a promise and let Sam and Dean and other hunters make his problems go away; it was a whole new struggle to be helpless, to be _useless_ , and force himself to be okay with that.

A couple of hours later, Kyle took the shortcut back to Bobby's. The bags in his hands rustled, and he tried to look at the bright side: at least there was more decent food in the house. With two men stuck with each other, one of them had to give in and learn how to cook better. But Kyle didn't mind much. It kept him busy, thoughts occupied with how much garlic to add instead of how much blood Libby might be losing, as her body was left dead in a ditch somewhere…

"Damn it…" Feeling woozy, Kyle righted himself against one of the rusted cars. His face was paler than usual, and his hands were clammy. _Get it together. Breathe._ Libby was fine. She _had_ to be. And Kyle? He just had to wait a little bit longer.

_"We're going to find your sister, man. Just trust me on that, okay?"_ Sam's voice echoed in the back of his head. And then something else. It was the faintest whisper, but also something familiar…

"Amenadiel?" Kyle whirled around. But no one was there, and the whispering had stopped. "H-hey, Amenadiel!"

The abrupt silence made him feel unsettled, and he prepared himself to make a beeline for the house. Except when his eyes caught a glint, and then widened when he realized what it was. _A pistol_. Kyle lowered the grocery bags and began to reach out, but hesitated. He'd been to a few gun shows and handled knives before, but never a firearm. Figuring Amenadiel had left it for a reason, he curled his trembling fingers around the grip and lifted it. The pistol was relatively small, silver, with a short barrel and wide cylinder. Clicking off the safety, Kyle aimed shakily for a few corroded barrels that lay in the distance.

"With the way you're aiming, you'll be lucky to graze it." The gravelly voice startled him enough to shoot the gun off. Kyle was jolted by the kick and nearly dropped it, but Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder. "Christ, boy! _Relax_. You're in control of it, it ain't in control of you."

"Bobby, I was just…" Kyle licked his dry lips and shook his head. "I-I came back from the store, and…"

"Just breathe, kid." The hunter squeezed his shoulder again. "It's fine. But I don't think it's one of mine. Where'd you get it?"

"You'll think I'm crazy, but.." Kyle looked up at the sky. "Just now, I think Amenadiel was here."

"And he left it?" When the boy nodded, Bobby shrugged. "Eh, I've heard crazier. Bit of a strange gift but better than a gift card."

Luckily, that got Kyle laughing and, most importantly, his mind distracted elsewhere. Bobby took the pistol from him and stretched out his arm, firing it off. The bullet struck the middle barrel, and they listened to it tumble before crashing against some rubble. "So...guess you wanna know more about huntin'?"

Kyle leaned down and grabbed the grocery bags. "Maybe a little bit more."

"Of course you do." Bobby sighed and tucked the pistol away, patting the other's back. "Let's see what we come up with. _After_ you whip us up some grub."

* * *

_**About An Hour Later** _

_**Oasis Plains, Oklahoma** _

From the diver's seat, Dean looked over at his brother inspecting the dead bug in his hand. "So, you found some beetles. In a hole. In the ground. That's _shocking_ , Sam."

"There were no tunnels, no tracks, _no_ evidence of any other kind of creature down there," Sam said, trying to convince his brother of his theory. "And some beetles do eat meat. Now, it's usually _dead meat_ , but-"

"And how many did you find down there?"

"Ten."

Dean shook his head. "It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain."

"Well, maybe there were more?"

"I dunno. Sounds like a stretch to me."

Sam sighed. "We need more information. On the area, the neighborhood, or if something like this has ever happened before." He then noticed Dean looking at something. "What?"

"I know a good place to start."

Catching the obvious "BBQ" lettering on the sign before it passed, Sam rolled his eyes.

"What, we can't talk to the locals?"

"And the free food's got _nothing_ to do with it?"

"Of course not!" Dean said eagerly. "I'm a professional."

_"Right."_

They pulled up to the line of model homes, and Dean cut the engine. The Winchesters piled out and scaled the area, where Dean's displeasure was made obvious. "Growing up in a place like this would freak me out…" he muttered.

"Why?" asked Sam. "Kyle lives in a neighborhood like this. Just, more expansive. I think it's pretty nice."

"Dude, he's from _Long Beach_." Dean scoffed "Who doesn't wanna live in Cali? But this? The manicured lawns and 'how was your day, honey?' I'd blow my brains out."

Quiet for a moment, troubled, Sam finally said, "There's nothing _wrong_ with normal."

"Yeah? Well, I'd take our family over _normal_ any day."

* * *

"So, Dean liked the steam shower?"

_"Oh, yeah. Dean_ really _liked the steam shower. Too much."_

Kyle laughed. "Well, most of our bathrooms have it. And a jacuzzi tub. When things get back to normal and you guys are passing through, maybe you can stay for a while and try it out."

_"You serious?"_

"Yeah. We'll drive down to the beach, too. Have bonfires and stuff."

_"That sounds..._ really _fantastic."_ But there was something in the way Sam said it, in that whimsical tone, that made Kyle's heart ache. Uneasily, he jabbed at his taco salad with a fork.

"Yup, you never know." He forced a smile into his voice. "Hunters deserve a break too, right?"

_"Kyle…"_ A sigh could be heard on the other line. _"You do realize how_ different _this actually is, right? That it's far from normal?"_

"So? What's that got to do with us hanging out?" Kyle slumped forward, resting his arms on the table. "I don't care if you and Dean are hunters or strippers. You're doing a helluva lot for me, and that's all that matters."

_"We haven't done_ anything _, and that's the problem."_ Sam's words were bleak, and Kyle frowned suspiciously.

"Well then, did you call to make me feel worse than I already do about all of this? Or was there something else on your mind?"

There was a pause, almost as if Sam was cringing. _"I wasn't...I mean, I shouldn't have…"_

Now, it was Kyle's turn to sigh. "Sam…"

_"I'm really sorry, man."_

"No, just stop. _I'm_ sorry, okay? Just, the stress is getting to me. But I know you guys are doing everything you possibly can, and that's all I can ask for."

_"Yeah, I guess."_

It then went silent, until shuffling noises filled the background. Kyle picked up on the voice of a news anchorman, until it was abruptly interrupted by the Sooners highlight reel, and again by a "We'll be right back" on a cooking show. "Oh, you're in Oklahoma?"

_"Yeah, how'd you know?"_

"Call it a hunch." Kyle smiled, hearing Sam chuckle a little. "Nah, I heard you changing channels. Something about the Sooners football team."

The other snorted. _"Don't get me started about sports. Right now, I barely get enough sleep. Didn't take you to be much of a fan, though."_

"You guessed right. But my dad loved football. The Sooners especially, since he was an Okie." Kyle prepared himself to move on from the subject, but Sam stopped him.

_"Your dad's name was Alan, right?"_

"Mhm, Alan Rayner." Anticipating the next question, he continued. "He and my grandpa, his dad, had a falling out. So after talking to my mom and her parents, he agreed to take on their name instead."

_"That's interesting. Any idea on what they fell out about?"_

"None. We've never even talked to that side of the family, because Dad told us not to. But from what Mom's said about it, and my grandparents, they never got along anyway."

_"I kinda know the feeling."_ Sam cleared his throat. _"How did he die? If you want to tell, I mean. You don't have to."_

"It's fine. He had a brain aneurysm. Came out of nowhere on a Sunday morning." Kyle's leg bounced, remembering it. Any mention of his dad made him anxious, but at least time passing had made it easier to deal with. "The doctors thought it might have been hereditary, but there was no way for him to know since he hadn't kept in touch with anybody."

_"Sorry to hear that."_

"It's okay." Not wanting to end on that depressing note, Kyle hummed for a while before blurting out, "He loved apple pie. Like, _so_ much. I'm pretty sure he could've eaten Dean under the table. Especially if my grandma was the one making it."

Sam laughed. _"I'm not so sure about that. Dean hits such a dry spell sometimes that he binges on it for weeks. I'm talking everyday, for almost every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's disgusting."_

"Really? I find it fascinating."

_"Okay, now_ you're _creeping out more than what I just confessed to you."_

This time Kyle laughed, and it went on like that for a while. One would mumble something personal, the other would try to comfort; awkward silence would take over the conversation, until one of them tossed out something random and hopefully funny. A couple of hours passed, and Sam's cheap motel bed could be heard creaking on the other end.

"Wow, Frumps sounds amazing compared to that," said Kyle, as he stretched out on said couch with the phone pressed to his ear.

_"I can't believe you named Bobby's couch 'Frumps'."_

"What? It suits her."

_"Oh, so now it's a her."_

He answered without thinking. "Well, I wouldn't care either way." Until his brain caught up to his mouth, and his heart began to race. Did he really just _say_ that? Out loud? About a _couch_?

Luckily, Sam snickered away the sudden tension. _"I feel you, man."_

_He either thinks I'm joking or isn't bothered by it,_ thought Kyle. Was it still a big deal, and did he have to keep hiding it from friends? Were he and Sam close enough friends, or just friends for now? With an uncertain shudder, he pulled the blanket up to his chin and curled into himself with the phone.

_"So, Dean and I had a conversation the other day,"_ Sam said, thinking of a new topic. The way he worded it made Kyle wonder if this was what had been on his mind earlier. _"Apparently, Dad used to check up on me at Stanford."_

"You sound surprised."

_"Well yeah, I am. I didn't know your dad or his dad, but let's just say my own dad and I are the epitome of dysfunctional relationships."_

"No, I believe you. I just…" Kyle closed his eyes and smiled. "I just think of you and Dean, and how 'dysfunctional' you guys are as well. You're like me and Libby, with _a lot_ more fighting. But you've still found things to be close over. Maybe you could with your dad too, when you find him again?"

_"Maybe."_ But Sam's words weren't dismissive. They were hesitant, but also hopeful. _"I told Dean I'd apologize to him for all the things I said before I left. Doubt he'll care all that much, but…"_

"If your dad's anything like what I've seen in either of you, then I think he will."


	5. Count Me In

CHAPTER FOUR / COUNT ME IN

_"When you connect to the silence within you, that is when you can make sense of the disturbance going on around you."_

Stephen Richards

* * *

_He quickly lost himself, winding through the long corridors. Nothing could be seen besides what was right in front of his face, and ominous sounds filled the humid air. "Libby…!" He cried out. The name echoed an unseen distance, until falling on deaf ears. Kyle panted harshly. Looked away frantically. Sprinting and going…, going…, and going nowhere. Then he heard it._

_"Kyle…"_

_"Libby!" He snapped his head around and ran towards her. "Hold on, I'm almost there!"_

_When he arrived at the spot he'd suspect her to be, she was gone. Kyle continued to shout her name, until the steam moist air pierced his lungs. He hunched over and hacked, widening his eyes at the fresh blood splatter on the floor. "The hell…?" He wiped at his own mouth, then studied his hand. Nothing. He looked back at the floor. The blood had vanished._

_"Kyle…!"_

_"Libby, I…"_

_"Help me, Kyle…"_

_Was he imagining all of this?_

_"Help me, Kyle! They have me!"_

_"Who has you?" he uttered; too quietly at first, before forcing more firmness into his voice. "Libby, tell me! Who's doing this?"_

_"I'm sure you've got a good idea, sweets." A feminine voice whispered coldly in his ear. "A great idea, in fact." Kyle jerked himself away. The pistol Bobby had been showing him how to shoot appeared in his hand, and he aimed it at her. Beady black eyes shimmered in amusement as she belted out with laughter. Her blonde hair was cropped short, and she was scantily dressed. "You wouldn't actually shoot me, would you? How cruel."_

_"Who are you?" He clicked off the safety and tried to keep his arm steady. "Where's Libby?"_

_"Oh, so you like to get straight to it then?" she purred. "My kind of guy."_

_"Stop messing with me!" He started to feel it; the edges of his sanity beginning to fray. "Tell me where she is right now, or I'll kill you!"_

_"With that gun? I don't think so babe." She cocked her head to the side and circled him slowly. "Amenadiel may be giving you the training wheels, but he's on our side. If I were you, I'd be more careful with who I trust."_

_"What…?" Kyle realized his hand was shaking, and he stilled it with the other. "Bullshit. I don't believe you."_

_The demon chuckled. "Believe what you want. I'm not the one standing there clueless with a loaded gun."_

_"That's enough, Meg."_

_Sensing the familiar presence, Kyle whirled around and faced him. "It's you…" As Amenadiel approached, fingers extended to do whatever he was about to do, Kyle cocked the gun right at his face. "D-don't come any closer!"_

_"Kyle," said the Seraph, "you must be reasonable. This is a nightmare, and I have to remove you from it-"_

_"I said, don't move!" he yelled. Libby's blood-curdling screams then filled the air, causing him to stiffen. He cried out and sprinted towards it, only to get held back. "Let me go! Libby! Libby!"_

_"Calm yourself, Kyle!" Amenadiel tightened his burly arms around the other's waist. They both watched Meg smirk and turn, walking towards the spot Libby had been screaming from before disappearing. "It is a dream! It is not real!"_

_"No, shut up!" The shouts came, then the hits. "You liar! I tried to trust you! But you…!" Yet the angel could take no more and placed his large hand atop Kyle's head. A flash of white seared his vision, fading away and allowing darkness to fill his subconscious._

Kyle jolted straight out of bed, breathing heavily. "Libby…!" The slightest movement had him realize he wasn't in a bed at all, and he grunted when he fell off the couch and landed right on his shoulder. "Augh, shit…"

"Morning, sunshine." Bobby came downstairs into the living room. He'd been carrying a few boxes, until noticing Kyle, then dropped them beside his desk. "Y'know, if the couch is treating you _that_ poorly, I can always clear out one of the rooms."

"No, it's...it's fine." When the hunter held out his hand, Kyle took it and used the leverage to help him stand. "Just had a rough night, is all." Noticing the quirked eyebrow, he looked at Bobby. "What?"

"Kid, you've had nothin' but a bottle of beer since you've been here. I reckon we change that."

As Bobby went over to his drawer where he kept the whiskey, Kyle was about to argue. Yet the crook in his neck and pain in his shoulder quickly changed his mind. He watched a glass be filled and offered to him, which he took into the kitchen. The kitchen table had inexplicably become his favorite spot in the house, where he now sat and tried piecing his thoughts together.

Bobby followed him without a word. He took the seat across from him, his own glass already near empty. After a few minutes of silent drinking, he then refilled them both. "Wanna talk about it?"

Kyle took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Later." He stared down into his glass, swirling the dark liquid around before downing it entirely. It was tempting to go for another, which Bobby waved off and resealed the bottle. "Has Sam called?"

"Once. Said you fell asleep over the phone and he couldn't take your snoring."

"I _do not_ snore."

"Hey, I'm just delivering the message." He shrugged, before studying him closely. "Look, I ain't trying to push, but it might help to talk out whatever piss-crazy dream you had. Sam's been having nightmares too, and Dean's not the happiest camper right now."

Kyle stiffened in his seat. "Nightmares? About what?"

* * *

_**Half An Hour Later** _

_**Lawrence, Kansas** _

"We just gotta chill out, that's all." As he gassed up, Dean wasn't sure if the words were meant more for Sam or himself. "If this was any other kind of job, what would we do?"

Sam leaned against the side of the car, literally fiddling with his thumbs. He took a deep breath, pushing from it, and approached his brother. "We'd try to figure out what we were dealing with. We'd dig into the history of the house."

"Exactly. But this time, we already know what happened."

"Yeah, but how much _do_ we know?" Sam propped himself again, now right beside Dean. "And how much do you actually remember?"

"About that night, you mean? Not much. I remember the fire. The heat." The other swallowed thickly and hurried the rest. "Then I carried you out the front door."

Sam gave him a quizzical look. "You did?"

"Yeah, you never knew that?" Dean shrugged. "And, um...well, you know Dad's story as well as I do. Mom was... _was on the ceiling_ , and whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her."

"And he never had a theory about what did it?"

"If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times."

"Okay, well," Sam sighed, "So if we're gonna figure out what's going on now, we have to figure out what happened back then. See if it's the same thing."

* * *

"And then I woke up," Kyle finished. He'd been tugging at his hair, which made his scalp sore at this point. Not to mention his bed hair was now even messier. "But it didn't _feel_ like a dream. It felt...it felt like…"

"Like a vision?" Bobby's arms were crossed over his chest. He was leaning against the doorway between the living room and kitchen, eyeing him worriedly. "You think it was 'the angel' making you see it?"

"No, because he acted like he _didn't_ want me to." Kyle frowned. An odd feeling welled in his chest, as if he was feeling someone else's emotions than his own, hearing their thoughts. "I think he's working with them. With the demons."

"Well, if that's the case, there goes our theory."

"Yeah."

"Why go through the trouble of keeping you alive, though?" Bobby thought aloud. "That's what gets me. Maybe he's taking orders from somebody else, and workin' undercover with the demons."

"But who's ordering him?"

"I dunno. God?"

Kyle scrunched up his face. "Funny." He went over to the fridge and opened it, looking inside.

"I'm just going along with your whole 'winged messenger' idea."

"It gets dumber the more I think about it," Kyle muttered. He noticed Bobby from the corner of his eye, approaching the stove and setting the heat.

"Even though it makes no sense, no point in tossing it out completely. What else do you remember?" The hunter took the carton of eggs handed to him and placed them aside, top opened.

"That's about it. The rest is a blur." He sighed and closed the refrigerator door.

* * *

_About an hour later..._

_"You've reached Sam Winchester...which you probably realize is a mistake, since you meant to call his better, more handsome brother, Dean Winch-_ Dean? What are you doing with my phone? _-Right, gotta go…-_ Hey, give that back! _"_

Kyle rolled his eyes at the voicemail. _Well, that's new_ , he thought. Then again, it was his first time hearing it, since Sam made sure to always answer his calls. "Listen, um, I know it's still day out but I kinda need to talk to you, okay? When you get that time. Alright, thanks."

_Two hours later…_

"Yeah, sorry for calling again. I'm sure you guys are doing stuff, but...But I wanted to ask you something. About the nightmares you've been having? Dean didn't say much to Bobby about it...and before you start on him, I'm sure he only told him because he's been worried about you. It's what big brothers do, take my word for it. Anyway, uh, when you can...well, you get the idea. Later."

* * *

"Okay, so…" Sam watched, fascinated, as Missouri Mosely observed them quietly in return. "Our dad. When did you first meet him?"

"He came for a reading. A few days after the fire…" Her voice was gentle, careful. "I just told him what was really out there, in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him."

"What about the fire?" asked Dean. "Do...do you know what killed our mom?"

"A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the... _echoes_ , the 'fingerprints' of this thing."

Sam didn't break his stare with her. "And could you?"

"I-I don't…"

"What was it?"

She tried to answer him honestly. "I don't know. But it was _evil_." There was a pause, and she eyed Sam's pocket where his phone was. "Are you going to answer that?" It then began to vibrate.

Dean looked over at his brother, who moved quickly to dismiss the call. "Sorry, it's just a-"

"Kyle," said Missouri. "Kyle Chase. He's your friend from Stanford."

Sam smiled apologetically. "Yeah…"

She shook her head and hummed remorsefully. "That boy couldn't be more innocent, yet he's been through so much."

Curious, Dean leaned forward a little. "You've seen what's been happening? As in, _seen_ seen?" Right now it was their main priority to figure out what was going on in Lawrence, but maybe Missouri could help them find Libby as well.

"I've seen it on the news." She scoffed, but all traces of her humor soon vanished. "But before you ask me, no. I can't see Libby. Kyle's been having nightmares about her." Saying this, she glanced to Sam. "It's why he wants to talk to you."

The phone stopped vibrating and sent the call to voicemail. _He'll understand_ , Sam thought. He tucked the phone back into his pocket, ignoring the guilt that had been weighing on him.

"So," Missouri asked, "you think something's back in that house?"

"Definitely."

She shook her head again and sat down. "I don't understand. I haven't been back inside, but I've been keeping an eye on the place, and...it's been _quiet_. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it acting up now?"

"I don't know," said Sam. "But dad, gone missing and...Jessica dying, Kyle and his sister, now this house...all happening at once? It just feels like _something_ is starting."

Dean grunted. "That's a comforting thought."

* * *

"Alright, you arrive in town." Bobby freed his lips from the beer bottle and set it down. "Heard a bunch of crazy stories from the locals, and think ya might have a case. What do you do?"

"Steal a suit and impersonate a federal officer?"

He glared at Kyle, who was smiling behind his can of soda. "Okay, first off, we don't _steal_. We _rent_. Second, that's exactly what you do. Gotta get information. Libraries too, since they usually got somethin' interesting."

"How do you constantly make all that fake identification anyway? Without getting caught?"

"Kid, this ain't no damn forgery class. Now do ya wanna learn this crap or not?"

" _Okay_ , okay, I'll focus."

The phone rang, and Kyle perked up. Bobby stood and went over to the second one on the left, answering it on the third ring. "Yeah?" He paused, then rolled his eyes. "Get to the point, Garth. We're in the middle of supper."

With hopes dashed that it might have been Sam, Kyle slumped in his chair. He listened idly, pushing around the rice on his plate.

"And _why_ exactly do you think the bingo hall is haunted?" Another pause, then a snort. "Guess it don't surprise me. I'd be one pissed off ghost too if I was shut up in one of those places. But right now I can't afford to leave here...Tch, yeah, 'cause I haven't heard _that_ one, before...Goddammit, Garth...fine. _Fine_. But you owe me on this too, you hear? Damn right, _the other one_. That vamp nest in Michigan would've used yer bones for toothpicks, if I hadn't come and saved your skinny ass."

By the end of the conversation, Kyle was doing all he could not to laugh. Bobby smashed the phone back on the hook and left the kitchen. Ten minutes later, after Kyle had cleaned up, the hunter returned and tossed him a jacket. "Let's go."

"Uh, what?"

"You don't think you can learn bein' a hunter by ear, do you? You're coming with me."

"Seriously?" Kyle shirked on the jacket, which was too big and kept slipping off his shoulders. "But Bobby, I...I don't really…"

"Relax, kid." Bobby spared him a smile before turning away, leading them out the back door. "I ain't the sharpest, but I'm not a complete dumbass. You're coming along for the ride, but for now I'll keep you out of the action." They approached the '71 Chevelle, and he hardly took notice of Kyle struggling to get the door open. "My better mind wants to send you to Sheriff Mills for a couple of days, but nobody's supposed to know where you are."

Kyle gave up on the car and neared the trunk where Bobby was. "No one's recognized me th-holy shit..." His eyes widened, and he felt his stomach drop from the assortment of guns, knives, jars and whatever _that stuff_ was on display. "What the hell is _that_?"

The other shrugged. "Goat blood." Bobby tossed in an extra rifle and Kyle's pistol before shutting the trunk. "And just 'cause the town's ain't pieced it together doesn't mean they won't eventually. You weren't the only one who promised your mama to keep you outta harm's way."

"She called you? Really?" With a groan, Kyle waited for Bobby to get in the driver's seat and pop open the door for him. "Well, that's embarrassing."

With a snicker, Bobby slipped the key into the ignition. "Ain't nothing wrong with a woman worrying about her baby." The engine roared to life, and the hoarse sound made Kyle jump a little. Soon they were out of the yard, pulling onto asphalt with just the headlights guiding them. "She kinda reminds me of Karen."

"Who's that?"

"My wife." Feeling Kyle's eyes on him, Bobby shrugged again. "Late wife."

"Oh." Although his knees were uncomfortably crammed against the glove compartment, and Kyle now felt too awkward to adjust the seat back, he ironically felt tiny in the tight space. "I'm sorry, Bobby."

"Don't need to be, I've made my peace with it. Mostly." He took out his flask and sipped it, then tucked it away. "It's why I'm split about you and huntin'. It ruins your life, but _not_ being able to hunt the thing that took Libby would make you carry a guilt for the rest of your life. The kind that eats at ya, that you didn't do enough…" Bobby's eyes narrowed at the road, but he was focused on something far beyond it. "That your sister would still be alive if you could've done something to help." When Kyle said nothing to that, he looked at him. "See? I get it. We all do."

"Except my mom. Except Sam."

"As long as you come home in one piece, your mama can learn to live with it. Sam's just worried you won't want out, once you get in. Or won't be able to find a way out."

Overwhelmed by Bobby's wizened gaze, Kyle glanced out the window. "And you want me in? Why?"

"I'll be real with you, kid. No, I don't want you in. I don't want you in this for a single second." He let that sink in before continuing. "But I do feel like you got every right to help us get your sister back. And as soon as you do, I want you to put away that pistol and never get it out again. Understand me?"

_Another promise._ Kyle pulled at a curl that hung in his face, then sighed heavily and brushed it back. "Yeah. I understand."

* * *

_**Six Hours Later** _

"Well, there are no spirits in there anymore. _This_ time." Chuckling as she exited the house, Missouri took a seat beside Sam on the front steps.

He look at her, relieved but also disappointed. "Not even my mom?"

"No, sweetie."

"What happened?"

She was quiet, deliberating on how to explain it to him. "Your mom's spirit and the poltergeist's energy canceled each other out. Your mom, she...destroyed herself, going after the thing."

It felt as if something cold had seized Sam's heart and squeezed it. "What…?" His voice nearly broke. "Why would she do something like that?"

Missouri gave him a knowing look. "To protect her boys, of course." Yet as the hunter turned his head away, his eyes stinging with tears, she placed an uncertain hand on his shoulder. Briefly, until pulling away. During times like these, it was easier to deal with spirits than it was with a living human's emotions. There was no magic on Hell, Heaven, or Earth that could compete with pain; or her own case, guilt. "Sam, I'm sorry."

His attention refocused on her, confused. "For what?"

"You sensed it was here, didn't you? Even when _I_ couldn't." She stared at him. "That's why you don't want to talk to Kyle." And when Sam was silent, she knew she was right.

"I just...don't know what's happening to me. And I don't want to talk to him until I figure it out."

"I know I should have all the answers, but…" Missouri shook her head, and her shoulders sagged. "I don't know either."

Fortunately, Dean called out to Sam and they headed towards the car. "Don't you boys be strangers!" she said.

But her mind was thinking something different entirely. Going back to her house, Missouri had long sensed John's presence before he made himself known. "That boy," she said to him, "he has such _powerful_ abilities. Why he couldn't sense his own father, I have no idea."

John rubbed his hands over his face and took a deep breath. "And that friend of his?"

"Kyle Chase is a good soul," Missouri made sure to say. "That much, I know for sure. But the rest, I cannot know unless I meet him. His energy, though…"

"What about it?"

Her dark eyes sparked with something. "I know you are not a man of faith. And I won't say it for one or the other, but that boy is protected by something. And it's powerful. Not evil, but _very_ fierce."

John nodded curtly, but his face surprisingly softened. "And Mary's spirit? You really think she saved the boys?"

"I do."

He turned his head away, hiding the faint trace of tears, much like Sam did. The wedding ring was on his finger, still heavier than any corpse he buried or burned. Missouri noticed this and huffed.

"John Winchester, I could just slap you. Why don't you go talk to your children?"

Again, he shook his head. "I want to. You have no idea how much I want to see them. But I can't. Not yet. Not until I know the truth."

* * *

_**Three Hours Later** _

_**Tulsa, Oklahoma** _

Jolted with a vibration, Kyle heard his phone ring and groaned. At some point during their trip, Bobby had purchased him a disposable cell with a hundred minutes prepaid. He sat up in the Chevelle, now in the driver's seat, with a loaded rifle calling shotgun. The cell fell on its third ring, and he answered it while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "You done yet, Bobby?"

_"Kyle, I need your help…!"_ He sounded like he could barely get out the words, which woke Kyle completely.

"What? Bobby! What's going on?"

_"No time, just…get here…!"_

"Bobby? Hey, Bobby!"

The call dropped, and Kyle's heart began to race. "Oh, shit…" He fumbled for the door handle, managing to get it open, but nearly stumbled out the seat. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!_ He heard the pounding just behind his ears, the adrenaline coursing through him, and he struggled to breathe. _Focus, Kyle. Get the rifle._

He reached back inside and grabbed it, shutting the door. His clammy hand almost dropped the keys, but luckily the trunk was generous and opened easily. _Rifle, check. Okay, ghosts. Salt? Fuck, you idiot, of course you use that!_ Kyle shut the trunk. With another deep breath, he stuffed the extra pellets in his pocket, grabbed the pure-iron crowbar in his other hand, and started to run.

True to his word about keeping him out of the action, Bobby had parked over a mile away from the old folk's home. The town was small, fortunately making the building not as difficult to find. He rounded the back, scaling for a way to get in through the bingo hall entrance. The lights were off, and he caught glimpses of tossed and shattered furniture. Even a few windows had been cracked or busted completely. _What if I'm taking too long? What if he's already hurt?_ Kyle's legs began to shake, but he kept his knees from buckling by taking the crowbar and striking the glass. As soon as it broke, he reached his hand in and fumbled with the lock. The alarm went off, but Kyle ignored it and pushed the door open, running inside.

_Crap, I forgot the flashlight._ Slowing to a walk and scolding himself, something scuffled beneath the heel of his shoe. He looked down and observed more shards of glass, as well as a lit flashlight nearby.

"Bobby…" He stooped down and grabbed it. More scuffling came up from behind him, and he noticed the culprit right before they shoved him back. Kyle's back hit a wall, and the force of the push knocked the air out of his lungs.

_Right, ghosts. Super strength. Got it._ His ass met the floor, and his weapons went flying. "Bobby" didn't even hesitate as he approached him, prepared to finish him off, and Kyle scurried towards the rifle. His ankle was grabbed right when he'd seized it, whirling around and aiming it at the creature. _You possessed the wrong guy, bastard._ The triggered was pulled, and the salt went off like a spark. Bobby's mouth widened, releasing a ghostly screech. The thing phased through him and revealed itself, which cued Kyle to go for the crowbar. Yet the second he grabbed it, gearing up for a swing, the ghost hissed and dissipated to another part of the hall.

"Good thing it was right in front of you. Was worried you were gonna miss."

Kyle beamed at the familiar crotchety voice and looked at him. "Bobby! Thank god…" The hunter went over and recovered his own discarded rifle, looking around on high alert. "What the hell happened? How did it possess you?"

"The son of a bitch is nastier than I took it for," Bobby said, reloading his rifle and urging Kyle to do the same. "It waited until I got everyone out, then sealed off this hall. Which gets me wonderin', how the hell did you get in here?"

"I just came in…" Kyle trailed off, now realizing the alarms weren't going off anymore. The sound of resealed windows and doors echoed throughout the hall, where the only light admitted was the sun from outside.

"Which means it wanted you to come in here," said Bobby, trying to piece it together. "Come on, we gotta find and burn anything this spirit's attached to." He then paused and arched an eyebrow. "Where's your flashlight?"

"Right, so. About that…"

"Good lord, son." He sighed and shook his head. "Just follow me. _Closely_."

The two went quiet and explored the layout. Many tables were bingo free, but a few had unused batches of chips and numbered sheets. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, until Kyle noticed yellow tape exing off the area leading upstairs. "Did the police come here?"

"Yeah, earlier yesterday," Bobby said. "A friend of Garth's has a grandmother who stays at this home. Said there had been flickering lights, cold spots, other weird stuff happening."

"Like what?"

"Like an old lady stabbing the bingo coordinator in the eye with a letter opener."

"Jesus christ…" Kyle stepped back, letting Bobby yank off the tape and lead the way through.

"Yeah. Garth did him a favor and went undercover to get some more info. But another hunter needed him for backup, so he called me to finish checking it out." They made their way up the steps, where white tape outlined a body that had been on the floor. "One thing's puzzling me, though."

"And that is?"

"It's still early out. Ain't common for spirits to be out during the day."

Kyle nodded, then caught a glimmer in the corner of his eye. He eased himself away and approached an assortment of plaques on the wall; until he noticed something off, or rather _not there_ at all. "Hey, Bobby, come look at this. One of them is missing."

The hunter joined him and shined his flashlight on the discolored spot. "Welp, that's good and bad."

"Let me guess. That's the thing the ghost is tethered to?"

"Probably, and it's missing."

* * *

_**Rockford Counseling & Human Development Center** _

_**Rockford, Illinois** _

"Sam Winchester?"

"That's me."

Dr. James Ellicott smiled and waved him inside. "Come on in."

Sam put down the magazine he was reading, tossing it on the couch, and quickly followed him. The office was bright, full of windows, and serene; the opposite of what people like his brother thought "the shrink's office" to be like. "Thanks again for seeing me last minute," he said, as the door shut behind them.

James said nothing, preparing his notes, which gave Sam time to scan his desk area. He eyes focused on a plaque, where the words inscribed on it read, _Presented to Dr. James Ellicott, for 15 Years of Service to the Rockford Chamber of Commerce._

"Dr. Ellicott. Ellicott, that name," Sam said, meeting the doctor's gaze when he turned to face him. "Wasn't there a Sanford Ellicott? He was a chief psychiatrist somewhere."

"My father was Chief of Staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum. How did you know?"

"Ah well, I'm sort of a local history buff," he answered, thinking on the spot. "Hey, uh, wasn't there an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess? In the South Wing, right?"

James crossed his legs and stared at him. "We're on your dollar, Sam. We're here to talk about _you_."

"Oh, okay…" Not expecting that, Sam pulled back and reconsidered his strategy. "Yeah, sure."

"How are things?"

"Uh, good. Things are good."

"Good. What have you been doing?"

"Um…just, same old. Been on a road trip with my brother, helping out a friend."

"I see," said James, curious about said friend but deciding to get to that in a moment. "Was that fun? Riding with your brother?"

"Yup, loads. We, uh...we met a lot of interesting people. Did a lot of interesting things." Sam took a deep breath and tried again. "You know, what _was_ it that exactly happened in the South Wing? I keep forget-"

"Look, Sam. If you're a local history buff, then you know all about the Roosevelt Riot."

_Bingo_. "The riot? No no, I know. I'm just curious-"

"Sam." James placed aside his notes and leaned closer. "Let's cut the bull, shall we? You're avoiding the subject."

_Okay, maybe not._ "What subject?"

"You. Now, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you all about the Roosevelt Riot, if you tell me something honest about yourself. Like, this brother you're road-tripping with, and this friend you're helping. How do you feel about him?"

Sam slumped against the couch, clearly trapped in this sudden obligation. Yet ironically, he couldn't bring himself to be all that upset about it. "Which one?"

"Either or. Maybe you want to start with the one who's easier to talk about?"

"Okay, well, that's a simple one. I'll start with Kyle, I guess."

"Kyle? That's the friend's name?" When Sam nodded, James then asked, "Alright, tell me how you feel about him. What's he like?"

"Kyle's pretty cool. A lot's been happening to him lately, so…"

"So you've been there for him."

"Yeah. I mean, I've _tried_ to be." Suddenly tense, Sam clenched his teeth and his jaw flexed. "My brother and I have been pretty busy, but...it's all tying together, I guess?"

"So you're saying that, what you and your brother do on these...road trips, is your way of helping Kyle?"

Sam looked down at the floor. "Kinda. Kyle and I, we've both lost people we really care about."

"You mean they're…?"

"Uh well, one of them is. The other isn't."

"I see." James decided to give the other a little push. "And your brother, do you mostly deal with him for the sake of helping your friend?"

"In a way…, but…"

"Yes, Sam?"

He lifted his head and studied James, what was past him, and even beyond that. "Deep down, I can't help but feel like...like my brother is a part of me that I cannot escape from." His voice softened to just a whisper, wrought with every emotion he'd suppressed since leaving Stanford. "That, maybe I help Kyle because...he still makes me feel normal? Even though everyday, more and more, I _don't_ feel that way anymore."

James was silent. He nodded passively, letting that moment of realization sink in for the other; then said, "And how does Kyle feel about all of this?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair, letting out a deep breath that equally made him feel more troubled and relieved. "I don't know. We were talking a lot, but then I stopped."

"Well, it sounds like you really care about him," said James, smiling. "And if Kyle feels anything remotely the same about you, I'm sure he'd want to be here having this conversation instead of me. You think you might be up for that?"

About forty-five minutes after, the conversation ended. Sam exited the clinical building, reuniting with Dean as they crossed the street.

"Dude," he said, the annoyance evident in his voice, "you were in there forever. What the hell were you talking about?"

"Just the hospital, you know?" Sam glossed over, technically not lying.

"And?"

"And, the South Wing is where they housed the _real_ hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane…"

"Sounds cozy."

"Yeah, and one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff, attacked each other. They ransacked the entire asylum, resulting in a bunch of deaths."

"How much is a bunch?"

"Tens, hundreds? There are rumors, but no one knows for sure. Some of the bodies were never recovered, so I guess the patients stuffed the bodies somewhere."

"Which means we got a bunch of angry spirits still trapped inside there."

"Including Sanford Ellicott," added Sam.

Dean smirked. "Sounds like good times. Let's check out the hospital again and see what more we can find."

* * *

"Kid! I think I found something," Bobby called out, blowing off the remaining dust. Kyle arrived quickly, not lingering too far, and held the flashlight over his shoulder. "You know what these are?"

"Log books?"

"For the bingo games." The hunter turned a wad of rain damaged pages to a list of names. "And these are the winners, all dated by month and year. We just gotta match up these names with them plaques-"

"And find the missing one!"

"Bingo. Now, help me with... _Kyle, behind you!_ "

Reacting a second too late, Kyle felt himself get flung to the side. His body skidded across the floor, where his shoulder mashed against the wall. Bobby went to help him, but the ghost appeared between them. It was an elderly woman around her fifties or sixties, her skin pale and eyes bloodshot. Bobby readied the crowbar and swung at her, causing the woman to cry out and disappear once again. "Kyle! Come on, kid, we gotta move fast!"

The other grunted but let himself be helped up. "How the hell do you guys get used to this…?" But Bobby ignored him.

"You grab the books and start lookin'. I'll search for the plaque. Go!"

Kyle did as he was told, catching the rifle tossed at him in the process. He cradled the books against his chest, smearing his jacket and shirt with dust, and ran out the room. Bobby began turning over boxes and emptying them, pulling out drawers, as well as keeping an eye out for the ghost while reminding Kyle to do the same. "Make sure she doesn't sneak up on you again!" And as if on cue, the ghost manifested right in front of him, sneering. _"Balls…!"_

"B-Bobby?" Kyle sifted through the log books with trembling hands, hearing a struggle coming from the room the other was in. "Is she back? Do you need help?"

"I'm fine! Just keep looking!" The sound of a rifle going off pierced the air, then another, followed by a ghostly wail.

_Otis Harrison...Andre Carlson…_ Kyle flitted his gaze between the logs and the plaques on the wall. _Betsy Jones...Jermaine Edwards...Victoria…Wait._ "Victoria Benson! Bobby, that's her name!" Hearing scratching noises begin to infest the walls, he stood up and turned. The ghost floated in front of him, sneering as she seized his shoulders. Even though nothing was there, her touch felt like ice, numbing Kyle to the bone as he tried struggling in her grasp. The floor disappeared beneath his feet, and he clung to his rifle for dear life, trying to aim it at her; but her grip was too strong, and he remained frozen.

"Christ…" Hearing Bobby's voice come from below, Kyle's eyes widened when seeing how high Victoria was levitating them. "Hang on, kid! I think I see it!"

Her deranged eyes shifted sharply to Bobby, who had uncovered the plague with her name on it. Kyle hurriedly tucked a salt pellet between his teeth and muffled for her attention. "Hey!" With her eyes on him again, he winked and bit down, before blowing a mouthful of salt into her face. Victoria screeched and began to flicker in and out of existence, releasing him right when her body ignited in flames.

As he fell, Kyle stared up at her in awe. Everything slowed down, even Bobby's voice and the air resistance blowing through his hair. There was a searing light, right when he prepared himself for a fatal impact; and, like the ghost, he and Bobby were gone from sight.

* * *

Across the street, Amenadiel watched Bobby Singer wrap Kyle's arm around his neck and balance his body against his. He called his names a few times, the third attempt successful, and a breath of relief escaped him as Kyle came to. "Boy, you almost gave me a heart attack."

That earned him a weak chuckle. "Not surprising for somebody your age."

"Yeah yeah, shut your trap and start walking. I ain't carrying you the whole damn way back to the car."

But Kyle could hardly keep his eyes open. His head nodded to and fro, which made the angel concerned. Had the side effects of his magic been too excessive? But as Bobby continued to speak, and Kyle continued to answer, Amenadiel placed aside his worries to indulge his curiosity instead.

"So, how'd you like your first taste of huntin'?"

"It was terrible. But kinda awesome, too."

"Hmph. Least you still got a sense of humor. But lemme just say, those dumb mistakes you made? Would've cost your life three times over."

"Well, I saved you, didn't I?"

"You did. Came in like a bull in a china closet, but you did. I owe you one, kid."

"So, you'll season the steaks when we get home?"

"You bought _steaks_? Does it look like I'm made outta money, kid?"

"Come on, Bobby. Live a little for once."

"I got more than enough excitement in my life, if you didn't notice. As soon as we get home, you're taking back them steaks. I'll get us a couple of burgers or something."

Kyle didn't argue. There was a peaceful smile on his face, and Amenadiel could guess easily on what he was thinking: the frayed bond with his family, especially his grandfather. The false accusations the boy suffered had divided the Chases, and Diane made sure to withhold from Kyle just how bad the doubts and faux beliefs of him had become. His life, whenever he returned to it, would be forever altered. So until then, despite his mannerisms leaving much to be desired, Bobby Singer was a good man who treated Kyle well.

"Back at it again, are we?" From behind the Seraph, Dorothy chuckled. "Mind if I join you?" She was in a new body, far younger and dressed flamboyantly. The former valedictorian's hair had been dyed a neon blue, her nose pierced, and a tattooed sleeve peeked from under her ripped top. Stilettoed heels pierced the gravel as she came closer to him.

"Even if I were to decline, I doubt you would honor my wishes." Amenadiel's gaze remained on Kyle, who'd recuperated enough to follow Bobby the rest of the way towards the Chevelle. "Does Azazel require my presence?"

"Sorry, but no. You'll just have to settle for little ol' me." Her sunglasses glinted in the afternoon light, watching them as well. "An angel learning how to hunt. I never thought I'd see the day." When her unwilling companion said nothing to that, she looked at him with a morbid grin. "Would that fall actually have killed him?"

"My brother has no grace, which makes him just as human as Kyle. If one dies, the other shall as well."

"Mm, bet the crew upstairs wouldn't like that very much."

"Tell me, demon." Amenadiel's glowing eyes met hers. "What is your reason for coming here?"

Dorothy scoffed. "As if you don't already know."

"If I did, I would not inquire."

"The dream, dumbass. You think none of us would find out?" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You thought you'd try covering it up, making Kyle think you're playing both sides. But that dream was no accident. You _wanted_ him to see Meg. Because _you_ know that was Azazel's next play."

"The damage has already been done!" he nearly shouted, which made Dorothy's eyes gleam with delight. "Sam Winchester is tainted, and his abilities will soon awaken. Kyle must be prepared."

"You make it sound like Sammy might actually hurt him~"

As the doors shut and the Chevelle's engine roared to life, Amenadiel sneered and turned away. "The moment he soils his body with your blood, I want to make sure Kyle is capable of killing him if he tries."

The sound of fluttering wings whistled through the air, and Dorothy was left alone. "Oh, this is gonna be good," she said with a snicker, then vanished as the Chevelle sped away.


	6. One For The Road

CHAPTER FIVE / ONE FOR THE ROAD

_"There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be."_

John Lennon

* * *

_**The Next Day** _

"Dean…" Sam stirred and looked over at his brother, in the bed across from his. Blindly, he reached out and took the ringing phone, flipping it open. "Hello?"

_"Sam, is that you?"_

With the sleep knocked right out of him, he sat up. "Dad? Are you hurt?" His voice was hushed by the shock, then the torrent of other emotions raking through his body.

_"I'm fine."_

"We've been looking for you everywhere. We didn't know where you were, if you were okay…"

_"Sammy, I'm alright."_ He had to admit, hearing the nickname Dean and his dad referred to him as made warmth settle in his chest. _"What about you and Dean? Are you okay?"_

Dean, with perfect timing, began to wake. His senses cleared quickly, listening to Sam's frantic voice.

"We're fine, but...Dad, where are you?"

_"Sorry, kiddo. I can't tell you that."_

"What? Why not?"

"Is that Dad?" Dean sat up slowly, looking at Sam.

_"Look, I know this is hard for you to understand. But, you just...you're gonna have to trust me on this."_

"...You're after it, aren't you? The thing that killed Mom." _And Jess. That took Libby, that's made Kyle suffer..._

John sighed heavily on the other line. _"Yeah. It's a demon, Sam."_

"A demon? You know for sure?"

_"I do."_

"Then Kyle's story…" he murmured, "This means he's right."

"Hold on a sec," said Dean. "What's he saying?"

_"Yeah, it about looks that way. And Sammy, I...I also know what happened to your girlfriend."_ Sam said nothing. The only sound heard was the rustling of Dean's clothes as he yanked them on. _"I'm so sorry. I would've done anything to protect you from that."_

Sam's voice was softer, more vulnerable than before. "You know where it is?"

_"Yeah, I think I'm finally closing in on it. And wherever it is, that's where Kyle's sister will be."_

"Let us help."

_"You can't. You can't be any part of it."_

"What? Why not?"

"Sam," Dean reached his hand out, "give me the phone."

_"Listen, Sammy, that's why I'm calling. You and brother have to stop looking for me. And I need you to write down these names…"_

"Names?" Sam leaned away from his brother. "What names? Dad, _talk_ to me. Tell me what's going on."

_"Look, we don't have time for this. This is bigger than you think, they're everywhere."_

"I already know that! Dean and I saved Kyle from a bunch of demons back in Long Beach!"

_"There's even more than that, Sam. A lot more. Just us talking right now is dangerous."_

"No, alright?" His words almost cracked. "I _promised_ , Kyle. I told him that as soon as we got a hold of you, I'd help you get his sister back. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

" _Sam_ , let me talk to him!"

_"I'm giving you an order. You stop following me and do your job. Do you understand me? Now, take down these names."_

Wordlessly, Sam let Dean have the phone back. "Dad! It's me, where are you?" He listened to him hang onto John's every word, not even bothering to question as he said, "Yes, sir" and jotted down what their father told him to.

* * *

"Alright, so the names Dad gave us. They're all couples?"

"Yeah, three different couples. All went missing."

Sam, now in the driver's seat, focused his gaze onto the road. "And they're all from different towns? Different states?"

"Yup, Washington, New York, and Colorado." Dean glossed over the notes in his lap. "Each couple took a trip cross country and never arrived at their destination. None of them were heard from again."

"It's a big country, Dean. They could've disappeared anywhere."

"Yeah, could've. Each one took the same route through Indiana. Always on the second week of April. One year after another, after another, after another."

"And this _is_ the second week of April."

"Yep."

Sam considered that. "So Dad is sending us to Indiana, to go hunting for something, before another couple vanishes?" He thought aloud more to himself than to his brother, ignoring whatever Dean responded with. Slowly, he pulled the Impala over to the side of the road.

Dean looked at him, confused when Sam cut the engine. "What are you doing?"

"We're not going to Indiana."

"We're not?"

"No, we're going to California. Dad called from a payphone, with a Sacramento area code."

Dean sighed. "Sam…"

"Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess and took Libby, and Dad's closing in, we gotta be there. We gotta help."

"Dad doesn't _want_ our help."

"I don't care if he does or not."

"He's given us an order."

"I don't care." Sam placed emphasis on each word, bitterly.

Dean blanched at him. "I can't believe I'm hearing this right now…"

"We don't always have to do what he says!"

"Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs. To _save lives_. It's _important_ , in case you've forgotten about that."

"I haven't. But I'm talking one week here, man. To get answers." Sam held his gaze. "To get revenge."

"Alright, look, I know how you feel-"

" _Do_ you?" When all Dean did was stare, he scoffed. "How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died _six months ago_. How the hell would you know how I feel?"

"...Dad said it wasn't safe. For any of us. He obviously knows something we don't, so if he says to stay away, we stay away."

"I don't understand this blind faith you have in the man. It's like you don't even question him!"

"Yeah, it's called being a good son!"

Hearing that, Sam quirked an eyebrow. He clutched the door handle, popped it open, and got out of the car. Dean sighed again and followed him out of the Impala, and the doors slammed.

"You're a selfish bastard, you know that?" Dean said, approaching the trunk Sam had opened. "You just do whatever you want." He then stepped closer to him, as his brother hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder. "Don't care what anybody thinks."

"That's what you really think?"

"No, that's what I _know_."

Sam smirked and grabbed his last bag. "Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California." He turned and started heading the opposite way, feeling Dean's lingering gaze on his back.

"Come on, are you serious?"

"I _am_ serious."

"It's the middle of the night!" he shouted. "And when I take off, I'm leaving your ass. You hear me?"

Sam stopped and turned halfway, then shrugged. "That's what I want you to do."

They remained like that; for hours, for a few seconds, neither of them knew or even cared. Dean was the first to break their renewed stare, shutting the trunk firmly. "Goodbye, Sam." The front door opened, closed, and the engine roared to life. As he watched his older brother get back on the road and drive away, Sam didn't say a word.

* * *

At his usual spot in the kitchen, Kyle sat and polished Bobby's weapons. Whenever he found something suspicious on them, he was never disappointed with the explanation. _Blood from a wendigo. Ectoplasm from a specter. Goop from a...well, use your damn imagination._ His own pistol sat not too far from him on the table, and occasionally he looked at it; while enjoying the birds' chirping intermingled with Bobby test running old engines from outside. So when one of the phones rang, he answered it idly, expecting a telemarketer, a hunter who needed Bobby's help, or his mom. "Y'ello?"

_"Hey, Kyle."_

"Sam?" The gun nearly slipped from his hand, but he held it firmly in a towel. "What's been happening? Are you okay?"

_"Uh, yeah. I'm great."_ Kyle frowned. Sam didn't even try to sound convincing. _"Just wanted to call and check up on you. I know it's been a while."_

_So, two weeks counts as only "a while"?_ He hummed for a moment, thinking about what to say.

_"Look, I know you're mad. And if I were you, I'd be pissed too-"_

"Who said I was mad?"

_"Look, if you have something on your mind, just spit it out. I've got enough things going on than to deal with your passive-aggressive attitude."_

_Whoa, what?_ Kyle pulled the phone away and stared at it, then placed it back to his ear. "Okay, that...came out of nowhere. What the hell happened, Sam? Did you and Dean get into a fight?"

There was a pause, followed by a sniffle. Kyle wasn't sure if he was crying or out in the cold again. _"...Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."_

"It's cool, man." But he heard the defeat in the other's voice, and that made him worry. "But, did you guys…?"

_"Yeah, we fought. Dad called earlier this morning, giving us the run-around again."_

Kyle furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" He returned to his spot at the table, stretching out the phone cord in the process, and resumed polishing the weapons.

_"As in, distracting us with cases while he's been tracking down the demon alone."_

" _The_ demon?"

_"Yeah…"_ There was a pause, and a sound similar to a car passing by dubbed over their static-filled connection. _"He knows where it is, Kyle. And he's closing in on it."_

He stopped polishing now, settling his gaze on the pistol and whispering, "And he's sure this it? Like, very sure?"

_"Sure enough to try and order me and Dean to not get involved."_ Sam scoffed. _"He wanted to distract us with another mission, which Dean was fine with, so I told him to do it by himself."_

"Wait, you're meeting up with your dad alone?" And when he heard the affirmation, Kyle was silent. No humming. No awkward grunts.

_"I know you're probably worried, but it's fine."_ Sam tried to reassure. _"I feel like this is the right thing to do, Kyle. I told you I was gonna keep my promise."_

"Yeah…" He forced a smile into his voice. "Thanks."

_"Don't mention it...and hey, I'll call you back. I think I see someone up ahead."_

"Yeah, sure. Talk to you later." An uneasy feeling welled in the pit of his stomach. "Be careful out there."

_"I will."_

* * *

_**Two Hours Later** _

_**Somewhere in Indiana** _

"Come on, baby, let's go…" Marshall drummed his fingers to "The Stroke" by Billy Squier as he waited for the ATM to finish the transaction. The second his phone gave him the PIN, he punched in the number quickly and slipped out the faux card. By the time he put away his ear phones and zipped up everything, four hundred dollars were stacked and ready, which he took and left the machine for the next person to try.

Marshall loved bus stations. Compared to bank ATMs or the airlines, bus stations (especially ones out in the boonies) were typically more lax with the security. They also had shitty food, bathrooms, and a place to sleep. Not that he indulged much in any of the three. He found an isolated spot in the corner, hoping it wouldn't get taken as he stepped in the next line.

"Sorry, but the Sacramento bus doesn't run until tomorrow," said the woman at the front desk. "Five-oh-five PM."

"Tomorrow?" asked the big guy in front of him. Marshall wasn't exactly short, and he could level somebody if he had to, but the stranger looked pretty built. "There's gotta be another way."

"There is. Buy a car."

_Or give enough bj's until you reach Cali,_ Marshall thought with a snicker. The stranger glanced over his shoulder, hearing it, and he stiffened; not out of intimidation, but because he recognized him. _Well, I'll be damned…_

"Hey!"

Ignoring the woman when she asked for the next in line, Marshall observed Sam Winchester closely. A rather unsavory woman called out to him (A blonde? Really?) and Sam responded to her. "Hey…"

She smiled, fake ho she was. "You again."

With that, Marshall turned away and claimed the empty spot from before, which had luckily been left unoccupied. He set his duffle across some of the other chairs, pulling out a couple of cords, then slipped on an ear piece. Soon he made himself comfortable, back propped against the wall and feet perched atop his bag. He flipped on the ear piece, hacking Sam Winchester's phone in no time at all, and sat back to enjoy the conversation.

_"What's the matter?"_

_"Just trying to get to California,"_ Sam said.

_"No way!"_ Hearing her, Marshall nearly cringed. _"Me too. You know, next bus isn't until tomorrow."_

He forced out a short chuckle. _"Yeah, that's the problem."_

_"Why? What's in Cali that's so important?"_ Although Marshall knew from one look-over that she was bad news, he appreciated her getting straight to the point.

_"There's something I've been looking for. For a long time."_

_"Well, then I'm sure it can wait one more day, right? I'm Meg."_

_Fuck you, Meg._ Marshall frowned. That was the thing; it couldn't wait. It had been six months since his friend's life fell apart, and here was Sam Winchester, flirting with some random bitch. Not technically "flirting", but whatever. He hadn't kept as close of an eye on the Winchesters after they found Kyle, since he knew his buddy was in the most capable hands. At least for _this_ kind of job. The heat had caught wind of Marshall's trail, pressuring him to sever all communication, including with Kyle.

But now... _now_ …? He was up close and personal with the hunters. Or at least one of them. Where was Dean? And, bumping into Sam Winchester like this. Was it some coincidence or something more?

* * *

"So what, are you on some kind of vacation or something?"

The question had Meg snorting, before she gave a charming smile. "No, I ah...had to get away...from my family."

That caught Sam's attention. "Why?"

She sighed and shook her head a little. "I loved my parents, and they wanted what's best for me. They just didn't care if _I_ wanted it. I was supposed to be smart, but not smart enough to scare away a husband. And, it's just...because my family said so, I'm supposed to sit there and do what I was told. So I just, went on my own way instead."

In that moment, everything around them disappeared. Sam looked deep into her eyes, convinced he could see his own life reflected in them. _His younger self talking with his teachers after school, who encouraged him to go on his way, convinced him he could make his own choices._ For that single instant of time, Sam didn't feel normal; but he also didn't feel so alone either.

"I'm sorry," said Meg, flustered. "The things you say to people you hardly know…"

"No, no it's okay. I know how you feel." When they met eyes again, he smiled. "Remember that brother, that I mentioned before? It's kinda the same deal."

"And that's why you're not riding with him anymore?" she asked, hopeful.

At this point, Sam shook his head. "Guess not."

With a small grin, Meg grabbed her beer bottle and held it up as a toast. "Here's to us. The food might be bad, and the beds might be hard, but at least we're living our own lives. And nobody else's."

Just as Sam was about to clank his bottle with hers, his phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the number out of habit, recognizing Kyle's temporary one, and frowned. "Uh, would you excuse me? I should probably take this."

Meg laughed and set down her beer, going for a bag of chips. "No worries. Just hope it's not that brother of yours."

"It isn't. It's that friend I was telling you about." Sam then answered the phone, pressing it to his ear. "Hey, Kyle. What's up?"

_"Oh, hey."_ He sounded much more pleasant than before, if not a bit out of breath. _"Just checking up on you. How are things going?"_

Sam smiled at the thought. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it. They're pretty good. I met somebody."

_"That's good,"_ said Kyle. _"As long as their name doesn't end with Bates, you'll probably be okay."_ That made Sam laugh a little, as the other continued. _"Who are they?"_

"Her name is Meg." That cued her to try and get Sam's attention. He looked at her and, catching on quickly, held his phone out. She took it and thanked him.

"Hey, Kyle. It's nice to meet you." Her voice seemed to change pitch, sounding sweeter than before. "Sam's told me _a lot_ of things about you. Maybe once he and I get settled, you can come to visit?" She glanced at him and widened her smile. "I think Sam would really like that."

Catching wind of something not feeling right, Sam looked at her with a puzzled expression. A chair was then pulled up to their table, thudding against it with enough force to almost knock their bottles over.

"Sorry, but couldn't help to overhear," said the stranger, seating himself backwards. "You two are headed for Cali, right? Maybe Sacramento?" His gaze flitted between them and rested on Meg. "Don't mind me, babe. Talk like I'm not here."

"Excuse me, but…" Sam frowned at him. "Who exactly are you?"

Something gleamed in his dark eyes. With tattoos covering both of his arms completely, and his black hair slicked back, he took a few chips and popped them into his mouth. "Nice to finally meet you, Sam. It was a bitch trying to find you and your brother."

* * *

_"Here,"_ Kyle heard Meg say, and he assumed the phone had been handed back to Sam. _"I'm going to the bathroom. Be back soon. Or eventually."_

_"...She's gone now, Kyle."_

"Marshall!" he cried out, gripping at his damp hair as he leaned against the bathroom counter. "You're there? With Sam? How-"

_"Really, man? You're going to ask_ me _how I do_ me _?"_

_"Hello?"_ Sam butted in, his voice closer to the receiver. _"Kyle?_ This _is Marshall?"_

_"'Hey, hey Kyle. '_ This _is Sam Winchester?'"_ Kyle could practically hear him rolling his eyes. _"You see how rude that sounds?"_

Kyle snickered, more from relief than anything else. "Yeah, Sam. That's Marshall, my Deep Web vulture friend."

_"And he called me a vulture? Are you kidding me?"_

But Sam didn't sound so amused. _"Kyle, did you plan this?"_

"What? How?"

_"You didn't like the idea of Dean and I going separate ways, so you phoned in a favor from your_ friend _."_ He gritted out the last word.

Kyle clenched his jaw, feeling the tension pour through the phone. "For your information, no. For months, I haven't even known if Marshall was still alive or dead."

But that only earned him a scoff. _"Yeah, okay. I gotta go."_

The call ended, which Kyle couldn't believe. _Meg. He didn't even get the chance to warn him about her._ "Sam? Sam!" He pulled the phone from his ear eventually and tossed it aside, gripping the edges of the counter top. "Damn it…"

* * *

"And where do you think you're going?" Marshall watched Sam wrap up his half of the snacks on the table, stuffing them into his duffle.

"None of your concern," he said, hoisting the bag back onto his shoulder. "Now get out of here before I call over security."

Hearing the threat, Marshall did nothing at all; except shift himself over into Meg's seat, treating himself to her remaining snacks. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Sam narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm sure you've got a record that's spotted enough to keep you...what, forty, fifty years comfortable in prison?"

He shrugged, balling up the now empty chip bag. "Depends on what you can actually find." He aimed for the trash can, and the bag flew in easily. "But I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

"Why not?" When his phone rang again, Sam blindly sent it to voicemail. Marshall saw that and frowned.

"Because just like you could dig up dirt about me, I can dig up tons more about you. And with how you're treating Kyle, I wouldn't lose an ounce of sleep over it."

As the hunter smirked, the muscles in his jaw flexed. "You think I'm scared of you?"

"I don't care if you are or not. I'd still get the job done." When Sam's phone rang for the third time, Marshall crossed his inked arms and leaned back in the chair. "Answer him."

"Even if I were to believe you came out of nowhere," said Sam, "I don't think I will answer him. I've told him too much as it is." He looked down at Kyle's number displayed across the screen. "I know he means well, but he doesn't get it. None of them do." Swallowing thickly, he pressed the red button and ignored the call. "And I'm done with them _not_ getting it."

Giving him a good hard look, Marshall then chuckled. He unfolded his arms and slapped the table, attracting the attention of a few people before they resumed their conversations. " _Wow_. Okay, then. You know what?" He stood, slipping the final available snack into his pocket, and waved him off. "It's all good. If you wanna go to Sacramento, then go. But if you _do_ decide to keep giving a shit and manage to save Libby, just drop her off at Bobby's front door. Because I doubt Kyle will wanna see your face. Hell if I were you, I wouldn't even bother showing it."

Not saying a word, Sam watched Marshall walk away. The hacker approached the front desk, purchasing a random ticket, and headed towards the buses. They pulled off moments after, and he sat there, watching them go.

Eventually, Meg came back out. She found Sam still sitting at their table but, when looking around, let a curious expression creep onto her face. "Where's the other guy?"

As soon as he heard her, Sam tried to shift from "broody" to "laid-back". "Oh uh, he left. Probably long gone by now."

"Oh. That's too bad." With a smile, she reclaimed her seat. "What about your friend on the phone? Kyle, I think his name was?"

He forced a smile in return, not sure if it was persuasive. "He got busy with some stuff."

"Aww…" Even as she pouted, Meg's lips threatened to curve coyly. "He sounded so sweet, though. Like he was genuinely concerned for you. No wonder you like talking to him."

Guilt pricked at Sam as he turned his head away. "Yeah," he said. "No wonder."

* * *

_Twenty minutes later…_

_"You've reached Sam Winchester...which you probably realize is a-"_ Kyle pressed the button and skipped straight to the beep. "Sam, _please_. Answer me. It's about Meg, she...she's not... _Augh_ , this is gonna sound crazy, but...I had a dream about her. It wasn't clear at first, but now I remember it. And if she's anything like what I saw, Sam, she's bad news. _Really_ bad news. Like, _working with the demons bad_ because _she's_ a demon too. I know all of this is sudden, and I...I wasn't expecting Marshall of all people to show up there. Like I said, I didn't even know if he was still alive. Whatever he said to you, whatever he did, just know I didn't put him up to it. Okay? Please, Sam, just...when you get this, tell me. I need to know you're alright."

* * *

Later that night, Meg pretended to sleep soundly. She heard Sam speak in a hushed voice, trying not to wake her or the others, and she nearly smirked. Apparently there was something going on in Burkittsville, something pagan, and she tried not to grimace. _Savages_. Any humans who dealt with those "gods" were wasting their time. There was only one true Leader, one _real_ God, and she delighted in being so close to The Boy King who'd be responsible for it all.

But it wouldn't be easy. Kyle Chase and this "Marshall" character were living testament to that; as was Dean Winchester, who Meg wasn't surprised to hear more about the next day.

"Hey," she said, hoisting up her travel pack, "our bus came in."

For the countless time, Sam checked his phone. His voicemail as well, which she had made sure to tamper with while chatting with him overnight, claiming to be unable to sleep due to a "bad dream". A little demon magic went a long way: any correspondence Kyle might have had with Dean was blocked, and the incriminating voice messages he'd left Sam were altered. A small hitch, compared to the disaster it could have been. All because a certain angel couldn't keep quiet about their dirty little secret. "Hey, Sam? You okay?" She signaled to him again, keeping up the act a while longer.

He shook his head and pushed from the table. "You better catch it. I gotta go." Hurriedly, he began gathering up his belongings.

"Go where?"

"Burkittsville."

"Sam, wait…!" As she chased after him, Meg did everything she could not to laugh. _Be convincing._ "What's...what's going on?"

"I've been trying to get a hold of my brother for three hours," he said. "Kyle has too, and all we've been getting is his voicemail."

_Oh wow, I really am good,_ she thought, while anxiously biting her lip. "Maybe his phone is turned off?"

Sam shook his head. "It's not like him. Look Meg, I think he might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I can't really explain right now." Look how cute he gets when he's flustered. "But I don't want you to miss your bus."

"But, I don't understand. You're running _back_ to your brother? The guy you ran _away_ from? Why? Because he won't pick up his phone?" And when Sam didn't respond, only looking at her, she spread the icing on the cake. She tilted her head to the side, widening her eyes innocently, wishing Dorothy could be there to applaud her performance. "Sam…" Her voice was soft and vulnerable. "Come. With me, to California."

Sam was tempted; but of course, he said no. Like he was supposed to. "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"He's my family."

Meg watched him turn and walk away. She waited a while, making sure he was gone, before also exiting the station and getting back on the road.

A flesh hungry fool pulled up in no time, and soon she was in the passenger's seat; counting down the moments, waiting for _the_ moment, when realization of what she did hit him, the fear washed over him, and his life escaped him.

"Where to, pretty lady?" _One...two...three...four..._

"How about you pull over?" _Five...six…_

"Uh, okay. That works." _Seven...eight...nine..._ She felt his skin warm up, rushing to his vital spots, and his heartbeat complimented the expectancy between them perfectly as the engine cut off. _Ten...eleven…_ "What's that?"

She slipped the goblet free from her duffle and stared into it. "I gotta make a call."

"I have a cell you can use?" _Twelve...thirteen…_

"It's not that kind of call." _Fourteen_ , and the cut was made. She slit the human's throat swiftly, feeding the goblet with his blood. "Thanks for the ride." Her eyes returned to it, as she slipped her finger inside and stirred, inciting the communicative magic with a spell.

"He denied me, just like you predicted." A pause, and she listened intently. "...Yes, everything is back in line. Dorothy and I will help carry out the next move...Of course, it is always an honor to serve you, Father...but please, one request?" She blinked, exposing her pupil-less black eyes. "Please make the angel correct his mistake. Yes. Thank you, Father."

* * *

_Twelve hours later…_

_"Hey, Kyle. Just, you know, responding to your messages. I would've done so sooner, but you were right. About Dean being in danger. He's okay now..._ we're _okay, so don't worry. And, uh...you were right about the other stuff too. I could've went with Meghan...but, it wouldn't have been right. It wouldn't have felt right. I still want to find Dad. And Dean's still a pain in the ass. But Jess and Mom...they're both gone...Dad is god knows where...and all that's left for me is you and my brother. I know you probably think I'm an ass, and...I guess I am…(weak chuckle) But I need to know you'll be there for me. If Dean and I are gonna see this through, we're gonna do it right. With you right behind us. Anyway, this is probably getting a little long and-_ To replay your message, press one. To delete your message, press- _"_

Smiling softly, Kyle exited out of his voicemail and laid against Frumps. He gazed up at the ceiling, recounting the water stains and retracing the cracks, trying to recall what exactly he said to Sam. Parts of it were nothing but a blur, and the nightmares he had before were even harder to recall. Yet if anything he'd said saved Dean's life and his relationship with Sam, that was all that mattered. He then heard his phone go off, indicating a text message, and brought it up.

_Happy the dumbass finally apologized._

_Not that I just hacked your phone and heard it or anything._

"A message from Daddy Long Legs, huh?" Kyle snorted, deleting it and putting his phone away. He made up his mind to return Sam's call after fixing dinner for him and Bobby. Until his phone rang, Sam's number shone brightly on the screen. He answered it. "Hey, man, just got your-"

_"Kyle?"_

"Yeah…?" He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the couch. Something wasn't right. "Sam, what's wrong? What's going on?"

_"I, I just…"_ His voice cracked on the other line, and Kyle's fear immediately spiked. _"Can you and Bobby come here? I'll give you the address."_

"He's been out on a job. Should be back in a few hours…" Now on his feet, he began packing a bag. "But I'll start heading your way. There's a car here that Bobby fixed up."

_"Please hurry,"_ Sam said; and the _way_ he said it had Kyle take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I will. But what _happened_ , Sam? Please tell me."

Out of nowhere, it became silent. The other end seemed dead, making Kyle cease packing and check if the call had dropped. The moment his lips parted, and he heard Sam speak, his body went cold.

_"Dean's in the hospital, Kyle. He's dying."_


End file.
